


Khaki is the smuttiest colour

by Johnlock_4_ever



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry John, Apologies, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Bratty Sherlock, Butt Plugs, Captain John Watson, Caring John Watson, Caring Sherlock Holmes, Case, Confirmed Mystrade, Crying Sherlock, Danger, Deepthroating, Dom Drop, Dom John, Drunk John, Edging, Emotional Sherlock, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Good BDSM, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs (not really though), Handcuffs, I'm Bad At Titles, Implied Mystrade, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Lover's Quarrel, M/M, Mentions of Impact Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PTSD John, Past Relationship(s), Praise Kink, Punishment, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sentimental John, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay, Sherlock Has a Military Kink, Sherlock's riding crop, Smut, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Subspace, Top John, even more blowjobs, john still has trust issues, lots and lots of apologies, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock_4_ever/pseuds/Johnlock_4_ever
Summary: When John receives an invitation to a veteran reunion, Sherlock's military kink gets the better of him. Sherlock isn't sure how to negotiate his kink with John, but what's the point in kinks if you don't act on them?





	1. Unexpected invitations

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table of 221B, working on an experiment, when he heard John’s slightly unnerved voice from the sitting room – something that he had been waiting for since…

“Sherlock, did you use my laptop again?” John sounded irritated, angry even, and Sherlock knew exactly why – not that he could be bothered to answer him though.

John placed his laptop next to him on the sofa, got up rather quickly and glared at Sherlock from where he’d stopped in the kitchen door. Sherlock pointedly slowly looked up from his microscope and met the ex-army doctor’s gaze without flinching.

' _Ex-army doctor_ , definitely,' Sherlock thought. It was more than obvious from John’s posture: as if he was standing to attention, yet with the undeniable authority of _Captain_ Watson. Sherlock grinned internally. He loved his boyfriend like this and was glad that everything went according to the plan that had popped into his mind the second he had read John’s email. Sherlock had observed that John automatically switched into Captain-mode whenever he provoked him on purpose. John on the other hand did not seem to notice Sherlock’s intent. _Even better_.

“Sherlock, I asked you something.”

“At the risk of being redundant – your tone of voice already implies my answer – yes, I’ve _obviously_ used your laptop… again.”

“And you also read through my emails, right?” John sounded decidedly calm now, but Sherlock knew that it was literally the calm before the storm.

“I was bored,” he explained with a shrug and again concentrated his attention on the drop of liquid under the microscope.

“You’re working on a case _right now_!”

“I read that stupid email _before_ Lestrade even texted me the details!” he snapped back.

John took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. He was too well aware that living in the same flat with Sherlock – let alone being in an intimate relationship with the insufferable prick – left no room for privacy, and yet… “If you really read this mail, you would know that it’s not stupid or unimportant but rather an invitation to a veteran reunion. _My_ veteran reunion.” The _and it’s fucking important to me_ didn’t have to be said aloud.

Sherlock looked at John again with feigned interest. Of course he had carefully read the invitation; he had wrapped his mind around the event and John’s possible reactions to it for hours! John would definitely go to the reunion. John would go to the reunion and at least wear his dog tags; Sherlock was absolutely sure about that.

“Half of my old squad will be there too. Do you have any idea what it looks like if their former Captain does not show up to the reunion without even responding to the invitation?”

Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible, but John could swear that it sounded like some sort of apology. He breathed a sigh, closed the short distance between them and reassuringly pressed his lips against Sherlock’s right temple in a short kiss.

“Look, I’m not mad at you because you read the invitation, love. It’s just that I almost missed it and apparently you weren’t too inclined to tell me about it.”

Sherlock sighed. “The reunion is in five days and I meant to tell you about it, John, I really did, but–” Sherlock simply gestured at the sample under the microscope in front of him. When he was in case mode, he tended to ignore everything that did not directly concern the case, including his need for food and sleep and – much to John’s dismay – his sex drive.

“Will you come with me? Next Saturday, I mean?” John looked at his boyfriend and smiled nervously. He knew how much Sherlock hated those kinds of events, but for some reason it was important to him. The others would bring their partner along as well.

“I’ll think about it if I get to solve this case before the weekend.” For the second time this evening, Sherlock seemed to refocus on his experiment while his mind was not at all occupied with the samples of the victim’s blood and the different toxins. If anything, he did in fact think about the invitation now. Knowing that John would appreciate it if he came along did not at all benefit his decision making process. It was a two-sided coin that Sherlock kept turning over and over in his mind.

 

Pros: He knew that John was glad whenever he showed some interest in his boyfriend’s social life and he would spend a whole evening in a room full of veterans and perhaps John would even wear his old uniform.

 

Cons: Perhaps John would even wear his old uniform and the mere thought of it left Sherlock hard and wanting. There was no way he could possibly survive the evening without embarrassing himself or his boyfriend if John decided to wear his uniform.

 

The only possible solution for him was to subtly make John aware of his military kink and there was Sherlock’s problem in a nutshell: he did not want to beg for anything before John had even agreed to play _that_ game; the very thought of rejection tinged Sherlock’s cheeks pink with embarrassment. Leaving a few hints every now and then, yes. But asking John directly to… to do what in particular? To use his Captain voice more often, especially in the bedroom? To order Sherlock around, make him obey to a yet-to-be-negotiated set of rules and punish him if he didn’t? To control his pleasure, to leave him hard and wanting and waiting for hours, days… and then fuck him senseless? Sherlock had to stifle a moan when the visual part of his imagination kicked in. God, he wanted, _needed_ , every single one of those things, but he had no bloody idea how to ask for it! He would have to _show_ it then.

“Is everything okay, love?”

Sherlock flinched when John’s familiar voice disturbed his thoughts. “Yes, I’m just really engrossed in this experiment,” he answered as matter-of-factly as possible but a tad too quickly. He turned his head to look at John who was standing slightly behind him and granted his boyfriend a short smile.

“Alright,” John answered in a carefree tone of voice but eyed him suspiciously before he went back into the sitting room. Compared to Sherlock, the ex-army doctor was as observant as a hedgehog, but the way he had looked at his boyfriend a minute ago was proof enough that he had indeed noticed that Sherlock was all but focusing on his oh so important experiment. How could he possibly stay focused on anything now that an image of _Captain_ Watson haunted his mind palace?

~

 

Three hours and a Bond film later, John checked the rest of his emails and realised something he had been totally oblivious of before: Sherlock had only read that one particular message. All the other ones, some of them received before the invitation, some of them received afterwards, were still marked as unread. So why had this one caught Sherlock’s interest right away?

John darted a glance at his boyfriend who was still sitting in the kitchen only to note that he was completely absorbed in one of his many experiments for real now. There was no point in asking Sherlock anything then; he probably wouldn’t even notice it. John yawned heartily and gazed at his watch. It was already half past twelve and there were no signs that Sherlock would finish up his experiment anytime soon; if anything, the kitchen table was covered in a mess of even more substances, blood samples and other things that turned the room into a chemical laboratory.

Of course John tried to help Sherlock and the Yard as best as he could with the case, but the biochemical tests and the scientific trial and error were definitely Sherlock’s department and at the moment the main suspect’s alibi depended on exactly that.

John eventually stood up from the sofa, stretched and went past Sherlock on his way to Sherlock’s bedroom… _their_ bedroom. “Just try to get at least four hours of sleep tonight, okay?” He pressed his lips affectionately against the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, but before he could continue his way to their bedroom, Sherlock stood up, grabbed John’s wrist to keep him from leaving and gave him a much more passionate kiss. The sudden intensity caught John off guard, made him stumble backwards until his back was pressed flat against the fridge and left them both gasping for breath. When Sherlock broke the kiss, John pushed the other man away, gingerly, hesitantly. Not that he wasn’t interested in more (if the throbbing sensation in his pants was anything to go by), but he knew that Sherlock wasn’t up for more, not during a case.

“Sherlock?” the shorter man whispered and looked up at his boyfriend questioningly.

“I’ll try to get to bed before you stand up again, promise.” With that he padded back to the cluttered table as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened.

For a while, John didn’t move a single bit. He simply kept on leaning against the fridge; his mind pleasantly confused, trying to make any sense of what had just happened. Sherlock had never even kissed him like that while working cases before! John took a steadying breath, but when he still didn’t move, Sherlock addressed the matter at hand without even looking at him.

“Is everything alright, John?” he mirrored John’s words from earlier as if it wasn’t _him_ who acted strange since this early afternoon.

'I could ask you the same,' John thought, but then again everything Sherlock did had some kind of purpose.

“Er, yes. I’m… fine, really. Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“Night,” the detective replied and grinned internally for the second time this evening. John had obviously noticed that something was different, strange even. Good. No, better than good: _perfect_. Now he would simply have to make John aware that his altered behaviour was linked to the invitation (or everything else concerning John and his military past for that matter) and he would most likely get what his 'transport' longed for.

Obviously, the _Captain Watson_ aspect of John’s life was still important to him and he hopefully wouldn’t object to bringing that part of his personality into their sex life as well…

~

 

When Sherlock was eventually done with his experiments on the victim’s blood – he had told Lestrade right away that the 'accident' hadn’t been an accident at all – he allowed himself to focus exclusively on coming up with a detailed plan to make John aware of his military kink without wasting any words on it. Of course it would be sufficient to nick John’s dog tags and place them somewhere else in the flat, perhaps in the drawer that also contained their lube and sex toys, but wouldn’t it be so much more fun to call John 'Captain' during sex and then see how the other man would react to that? Perhaps they’d fall into some kind of role-play, perhaps John would even agree to wear his old army fatigues the next time. Sherlock had imagined it so many times before: olive-coloured fabric covering tanned skin and accentuating lean muscles, John’s dog tags clinking with every movement of his body, with every breath, every thrust, clinking together in a staccato rhythm when John drove them both over the edge…

Sherlock’s breathing rate increased and he realised that he was getting hard again. He had promised John to get to bed before the other man would stand up and to be honest, Sherlock did not want to be anywhere else now. It already was seven in the morning and – having memorised John’s sleep pattern months ago – chances were that John would wake up as soon as Sherlock climbed into bed. Chances also were that John would not object to a round or two of casual morning sex.

When Sherlock got up from his place at the kitchen table, he gave a low moan because the movement caused his erection to shift a bit and when he palmed himself through the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms, he realised that they were already soaked with precome by now. He discarded them along with his dressing gown and shirt on his way to their bedroom and slipped under the covers in nothing but his pants.

Just as expected, John woke up as soon as he could feel the familiar weight of Sherlock’s body sink onto the mattress next to him. Instinctively he turned to his side, cupped Sherlock’s jawline with his left hand and pressed an affectionate kiss against the other man’s soft, hot lips. Sherlock kissed him back enthusiastically and John broke the kiss with a smile.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mumbled drowsily and wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist, pulled the other man’s slender frame closer against his own body.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, his voice raspy and filled with desire, and leant in for another, more passionate kiss. John was still half-asleep, the movement of his lips a bit uncoordinated and sloppy in his current state of mind, but Sherlock happily took the lead. He sucked John’s bottom lip into his mouth and carefully nibbled at it, sighing when John subconsciously pressed their hips closer together. Then Sherlock let his tongue slide past the seam of John’s lips and flicked it against the tip of John’s tongue, pointedly slow and teasing. Sherlock tried to keep up that deliciously slow pace, but he couldn’t fool himself. The small licks and gentle sucks soon became rougher and more demanding until he lost himself in that kiss and John hummed approvingly. However, when Sherlock began to tug at the hem of John’s shirt, the shorter man broke the kiss and looked at him with the same confusion in his eyes Sherlock had seen earlier, when he had kissed him in the kitchen.

“I thought you don’t…” John panted, trailed off and cleared his throat. “Well, you said you weren’t up for _that_ when you’re working on a case.” However much John tried, he couldn’t keep his own arousal out of his voice.

It was the very first thing he had learnt about his relationship with Sherlock. The consulting detective was married to his work and he was a very faithful husband indeed.

Sherlock heaved a sigh. Wasn’t it obvious by now? “The case is basically solved.”

“What do you mean by 'basically'?” John asked and placed his left hand on Sherlock’s sternum when Sherlock came closer to kiss him again. They still had plenty of time for lazy kisses and sloppy blow jobs and whatever Sherlock had in his beautiful mind, but right now John was honestly curious about the details of the case and why Sherlock had suddenly turned all needy before the murder was properly solved.

Sherlock’s grey-blue eyes were fixed on John’s while he rattled through his explanation: “As I’ve noticed at first glance, the victim’s body did not look like that of a typical water corpse, despite the fact that she had indeed a fair amount of water in her lungs. So yes, she drowned in the Thames, but it was only made to _look like_ an accident. Through my experiments, I found out that her blood alcohol level was rather high, but the truly remarkable detail is that the amount of oxygen in her blood was impossibly high as well, or at least impossibly high for someone who _drowned_. But we know that she did drown, so the only logical assumption is that she hyperventilated right before her killer shoved her unconscious body into the river. That’s why there were no signs of resistance on her body. By that point, the victim was too weak to save herself; she immediately sank down into the water and died as soon as it filled her lungs, but due to the fact that she hyperventilated right before her death, she drowned without actually asphyxiating in the pathological sense.”

John looked at him in pure adoration. “That was brilliant. _You_ are brilliant!”

“I’ve already emailed my results and deductions to Lestrade. There are still two possible killers, the victim’s sons. Both of them work in the medical field, both of them had a motive. I can’t yet tell who of them did it, but I know _how_ she was killed. John, when I said that the case is basically solved, I meant it. So would you _please_ let me kiss you now?”

John thought about it for a moment. This was definitely not unwelcome but still a bit unusual for Sherlock.

“Look, it’s just that you don’t usually… I mean, are you sure?”

Sherlock took John’s hand that still rested against his chest into his own hand and guided it down to his crotch. John only gasped when Sherlock pressed John’s palm against the damp fabric of his pants and the throbbing bulge underneath. He kept John’s hand pressed firmly against his erection when he leant closer towards the other man; so close that his lips brushed against John’s ear when he spoke.

“Does it _feel_ like I’m not sure?” Sherlock rasped in his low baritone voice.

John’s hand gently began to knead Sherlock’s erection of its own accord and when Sherlock moaned in response, John, too, gave in to the pent-up arousal. He wrapped one leg around Sherlock’s hips and turned both of them around so that Sherlock was lying supine and John straddled his lap. In one swift movement, he pulled off his shirt and began to rub his half-hard cock against Sherlock’s erection in a slow but steady rhythm, eliciting low moans from the man underneath him. John lost his rhythm a bit when he leant forward and licked over the delicate skin of Sherlock’s suprasternal notch, then sank his teeth into the skin and sucked hard, making sure that he would leave a clearly visible love bite there. Sherlock groaned even louder and arched his hips off the sheets; grinding his almost painfully hard cock against John’s as he did so. He was desperate for some friction, desperate for release.

John made a strangled noise when Sherlock rutted their hips together in a frantic rhythm, but he didn’t want to come like this, didn’t want Sherlock to come like this. With his hands he stilled the thrusting movements of Sherlock’s hips, but before the other man could complain, he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of Sherlock’s pants and pulled them down to his ankles, then quickly got rid of his own pyjama bottoms and pants. John could clearly see the pleading look in Sherlock’s eyes but God, how he loved to tease him. He wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock and gave it a couple of firm strokes before he closed his lips around the glans and sucked gently. Sherlock clenched his hands into the sheets, threw his head back and moaned shamelessly when John hummed around his length and took more of him into his mouth. John enjoyed this as much as Sherlock did, but he did not want to make his boyfriend come like this either. He knew that Sherlock would beg for more if he brought him to the edge without letting him come and _that_ was right where he wanted him to be. He bobbed his head up and down on Sherlock’s cock, occasionally breaking his rhythm to tease the frenulum with his tongue or repeatedly flick it over the slit. It didn’t take long until Sherlock’s moans became more frequent; another rush of bitter precome mingled with John’s saliva and when John noticed the shallow but tell-tale thrusts of Sherlock’s hips, he withdrew his mouth from the other man’s cock altogether. Sherlock desperately arched his hips up into – nothing – and actually _whimpered_.

“Fuck me, please. I’m begging you, John. I– _nngh, God,_ ” Sherlock groaned uninhibitedly when one of John’s lubed up fingers circled his rim and pushed past the tight ring of muscle with only little resistance. Apparently, Sherlock hadn’t noticed that John had already grabbed the lube while getting rid of his own pants and that he had prepared himself while taking Sherlock apart with his mouth.

“I love it when you’re all needy and desperate for me,” John breathed and pressed a chaste kiss against the head of Sherlock’s cock.

“Desperate _because of_ you!” Sherlock huffed in mock-annoyance and managed to bite back a low moan when John’s warm, wet lips caressed only the very tip of his throbbing cock. Both of them knew that if John kept things light and slow, Sherlock wouldn’t be coming anytime soon.

John coaxed another moan out of his shivering, gasping boyfriend when he moved the finger inside of Sherlock in thrusting and bending movements until he felt Sherlock relax around it. After a while, John added a second finger to carefully work Sherlock loose and open and Sherlock responded beautifully by digging his heels into the sheets and trying to push himself even further down on John’s fingers. Sherlock cursed and writhed on the mattress, broken moans fell from his lips and made John’s cock throb in sympathy, but he’d never forgive himself if he rushed through this and hurt Sherlock because of his own impatient eagerness. By the time John decided to add a third finger, Sherlock’s breathing was already reduced to harsh, panting breaths and when John traced light circles around Sherlock’s prostate without actually touching it, Sherlock couldn’t hold back a litany of needy whimpers.

“God, John, feels good… so _fucking_ good! Please, I need – AH! – oh fuck, Jooohn… nnngh _please_!” He almost sobbed when John’s fingertips finally massaged his prostate and made his cock twitch against his stomach in response.

“Shh, it’s alright, sweetheart,” John cooed but to be honest, he couldn’t wait any longer either. Sherlock gave an indignant moan when John’s fingers slipped out of him, leaving him feel unpleasantly empty. Sherlock spread his legs even further, planting his feet flat on the bed. Once more, John reached for the bottle of lube, spread a fair amount of it on his cock and slowly breached Sherlock, pressing forward inch by inch, until he was fully buried in his boyfriend. John revelled in the feeling of having his entire cock engulfed in Sherlock’s tight, pulsing heat and a throaty groan escaped his lips when Sherlock deliberately clenched around him. He gave Sherlock some time to adjust to the stretch before he set a slow rhythm and leant forward to crush their mouths together in a passionate kiss. Sherlock moaned shamelessly into John’s mouth when John’s thrusts eventually became deeper but, as marvellous as it felt, that wasn’t quite what Sherlock had in mind.

“Harder,” he demanded breathlessly and John did indeed speed up, but it wasn’t enough; Sherlock needed more, he needed… _ooooh, God, please… MORE_!

“Is that really the best you can do… _Captain_?” he asked teasingly, ignoring his own arousal for a while in order to focus all of his attention on John’s reaction. For a brief moment, John’s movements stuttered to a halt altogether, then he sat back between Sherlock’s legs. There was a calculating look in his eyes, but Sherlock also noticed the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sherlock’s heartrate increased when John locked eyes with him, silently asking for something that Sherlock was more than eager to give. No consent for leaving love bites and scratches and other marks on Sherlock’s immaculate skin to make damn sure that everybody knew he was taken, no permission to make things rough; nothing they hadn’t agreed on before. No, John was looking for a more dedicated mind-set, an even deeper kind of submission; something that made Sherlock shiver and mewl and nod in wordless agreement.

John cupped the underside of Sherlock’s left knee with his right hand and lifted it up until Sherlock could place his leg comfortably over John’s good shoulder. John’s tongue flicked over his upper lip and he grinned when Sherlock’s breath hitched in response.

“Alright, Sherlock. You asked for this,” John teased, but his voice was stern. Instead of the punishing rhythm Sherlock was mentally bracing himself for, John circled his hips languidly in small, grinding thrusts that drove Sherlock out of his mind with want.

'He wants to hear me begging again,' Sherlock thought, the realisation suddenly clear as day. Of course, he could easily oblige. Or perhaps… Sherlock closed his eyes and reached down to give his neglected cock some much-needed attention.

John gripped his wrist in an instant and pinned it firmly against the pillow next to Sherlock’s head. “If you really want to play that game, _soldier_ , you don’t get jerk yourself off while I’m fucking you!” John hissed and tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hand. He underlined his point with a couple of particularly rough thrusts.

 _Fuck_.  He had definitely underestimated John. “God, Captain, I’m so desperate for it. Please let me come… _make_ me come,” Sherlock begged breathlessly and placed his other hand on the pillow as well, completely submitting himself to John’s mercy.

There was a short moment where they were both rather surprised by how naturally they fell into this roleplay. Sherlock had let nothing on about this particular kink in the past, not that John had noticed.

For the second time this morning, John smirked at his lover with glinting eyes. “Here’s the deal, soldier: You don’t get to touch yourself. You can beg all you want, but _I_ won’t jerk you off either. And you better come before I do, or not at all,” he commanded in his Captain voice.

Sherlock arched his neck and moaned whorishly when John finally began to fuck him in earnest. His thrusts were hard, punishing even, and before long John groaned in the particular way he always did when he was dangerously close to the edge. His rhythm became even faster; the movement of his hips frantic as he aimed for Sherlock’s prostate with each unrelenting thrust. Sherlock whimpered and wrapped his legs around John’s hips to allow his boyfriend to penetrate him even deeper when he felt a familiar heat pool in his lower abdomen.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so close. John, I’m… _J–John_!” Both of them groaned when Sherlock came untouched; pulse after pulse of hot, white semen landing on both their chests and bellies while John fucked him through his orgasm to chase his own release. John could feel Sherlock clench and pulse around his cock and after a few more thrusts he came as well, stilling completely while he spilled his come deep in Sherlock’s arse.

Sherlock was utterly satisfied. Not only physically, though. Apparently, a single word was all it took to spice up their morning sex. A single word and a kink that – as he now knew – both of them were up for. The following days would definitely be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me ages to write this particular piece of shameless smut.  
> Depending on the EU copyright developments, this *might* be the last chapter and fanfic I ever publish.


	2. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock still doesn't know how to negotiate his kink, but John is a saint.

It was well past nine when John woke up for the second time that morning. He usually hated dozing off again, but the reason for that had been more than worth it.

A gentle snoring sound to his left caught John’s attention. Apparently, he was not the only one their morning activities had taken their toll on. He turned his head to look at Sherlock and smiled when he let his gaze roam over the pile of tangled duvet, long limbs and sweaty, dishevelled curls.

Usually, Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to sleep during a case, but he had already made an exception to his case-mode schedule. If John was lucky, he’d even be able to coax a slice of toast and at least one cup of tea past those enticing lips. He liked taking care of Sherlock, especially since the genius had nearly collapsed after a particularly intense 74 hour case. All attempts to reason with Sherlock and convince the stubborn detective that a modicum of sleep and food might help his 'transport' to survive the case had been cut off with snarky replies. Of course, that didn’t keep the doctor from trying…

John stretched and slowly got out of bed, careful not to wake his boyfriend. During-case-naps were few and far between and much more important than Sherlock would ever admit. He snatched his mobile from the bedside table and checked for any new messages from Lestrade – fortunately, there were none.

Sherlock shifted a bit and snuggled his face into John’s pillow, but he kept on snoozing. John smiled as he fought the urge to brush a stray curl out of Sherlock’s forehead and continued his way to the bathroom instead. Case or not, they’d probably have a rather relaxed morning.

~

 

Sherlock woke with a start. He had no idea how long he’d slept for or why he had fallen asleep in the first place. The first thing he noticed was that John had already got up. Sherlock let his hands roam over the sheets; the fabric was cool (John must have woken up at least an hour ago) and ruffled (more than usual). Sherlock stretched luxuriously and kicked the duvet off. He heaved a sigh when he looked at his smartphone… four hours. He’d wasted _four hours_ not working on the case!

'Make it four and a half, adding a minimal morning routine and rejecting John’s attempts to feed me some breakfast,' Sherlock thought and padded towards the bathroom. He mentally corrected his timetable to 'five' when he caught sight of his messy hair in the mirror.

~

 

“You could have woken me, you know,” Sherlock said as he entered the kitchen, now fully dressed.

John was in an exceptionally cheerful mood and quickly made a second cup of tea. He was completely undeterred by Sherlock’s reproachful tone. “Yeah, I could have,” he smirked.

Oh, at least _someone_ was pleased with himself. “Then why on earth didn’t you?” Sherlock snapped and glared at John. Falling behind with a case was beyond unacceptable.

“You know why. We talked about this, remember, Sherlock?”

Of course he did. It had happened during the Moriarty case. Sherlock had been working non-stop, wrapping up cold cases and actively trying to save hostages. The inevitable showdown with Moriarty and his snipers had kept him going for a while, but when the adrenaline eventually subsided, he’d almost collapsed in the middle of the sitting room. John had barely managed to make him sleep in their bed instead of on the sofa. The following quarrel had been a bit not good.

Sherlock only huffed in response. It wasn’t like he hadn’t slept in days; this case was different from that bloody game with Moriarty!

“Besides, you said it yourself this morning: the case is basically solved.” Sherlock opened his mouth, but John cut him short: “And yes, Greg is perfectly capable of getting some decent police work done without your help.”

“I beg to differ,” Sherlock mumbled even though he knew that John was right. There was little he could do at this point. It was the usual mid-case limbo and he would have to wait till Lestrade called for his support again.

“Of course you do,” John laughed and gave Sherlock a little peck on his chin. He darted a glance at the kitchen table that was still cluttered with Sherlock’s microscope and beakers and carried both cups towards the coffee table instead.

Sherlock followed him hesitantly. He couldn’t be fooled by John’s carefree demeanour. John was nervous about something; it was more than obvious from his elevated breathing rate and the one too many smiles. Sherlock joined his boyfriend on the sofa and gracefully sipped his tea, pondering on random case facts and John’s behaviour.

John took a deep breath and finally turned to Sherlock. “So, when did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you have a military kink?”

Sherlock almost choked on his tea. This wasn’t exactly on his list of favourite things to talk about first thing in the morning (or ever) and the question did catch him off-guard.

“It’s just… all those things you implied when…” John trailed off and looked away in embarrassment.

“I didn’t _imply_ anything. I made it very clear and you picked up on it. That’s… good.”

John looked at him expectantly.

Sherlock sighed. “Fine, I do have a military kink and I rather liked the way you took charge of that, but can we just…” Sherlock made a small pause, searching for the right words, “…go from there and _not_ talk about it?” He was already feeling uncomfortable, his mind drifting off to unpleasant memories.

“It’s crucial to negotiate this properly, Sherlock. I thought about it quite a lot this morning and it’s a kink I want to explore with you, but I need to know what you are in for.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock demanded impatiently.

“I mean, what do you expect from this? What do you want to get out of it? Is it about discipline, submission, roleplay, humiliation… pain?”

Sherlock flinched at the last word.

John set his teacup aside and shifted closer towards the other man. Obviously, Sherlock didn’t like to talk freely about his kink, but John had a feeling that there was more to it. He placed one hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck and massaged small circles onto the skin. Sherlock closed his eyes and immediately relaxed under the reassuring touch.

“See why we have to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

Sherlock made a non-committal sound.

John did not want to push him, but he had to know… “Would you mind telling me why this makes you feel uncomfortable, love?”

Sherlock swallowed and took a deep breath before he opened his eyes again. Some things just wouldn’t stay buried in the basement of his mind palace after all. “I’ve got a bit of a history when it comes to my military kink and the BDSM-ish relationship that followed. Things didn’t end well for me last time.”

The shocked look on John’s face was enough to prompt him to elaborate: “Everything that happened was consensual, John.” Sherlock smiled bitterly. “He knew exactly how to take me to subspace, but he always left me there, alone. When we were done with a scene, he didn’t care much about me afterwards. The humiliation was exciting at first but after a while it left me feeling utterly worthless. I didn’t know how to communicate my needs outside of a scene then and even now I feel insecure about it!” he hissed.

John took a moment to collect his thoughts. “It’s not your fault if you don’t know how to communicate something. I roughly know what you like and don’t like, but I won’t do _anything_ without your explicit consent, scene or not. Is that clear, Sherlock?”

Somehow, John’s voice was commanding and caring at the same time. _Perhaps this might work after all._ Sherlock brought himself to lock eyes with his favourite soldier. “Yes, John.”

The shorter man leant forward and kissed Sherlock affectionately until he began to calm down a bit. “I’m glad you told me that you’re rather concerned about the entirety of the relationship than the kink itself. But I’m afraid we’ll have to talk about either.”

“If you insist,” Sherlock said curtly. He was still sceptical, but as a general rule he trusted John – more than he had ever trusted anyone.

John heaved a sigh before he went on. Talking about past relationships was a pain in the arse, but he decided that it might be helpful. “I, too, had a fair share of relationships that involved at least some degree of power play. Aftercare and mutual respect are essential to minimise the risk of both physical and psychological damage, but _this_ …” John gestured between them, “kink negotiations and open communication are just as important. So yes, I am more than amenable for all of this, Sherlock. But considering everything you’ve already experienced, it’s more than important that we start this the right way. Like it or not, communication _does_ play a huge part in that.”

Sherlock was taken aback by John’s openness and seriousness. For a fearful moment, he’d expected him to reject the idea altogether. “I still hate talking about this, but I know that you’re offering me a change for the better in the long run.”

With their changing relationship from best friends to boyfriends everything had just fallen into place, but this was different. Sherlock tried to wrap his mind around the basics. “I’m submissive, but I can be very… _challenging_ sometimes. I enjoy discipline, but I don’t like pain or humiliation when it’s too excessive. I’m clearly into roleplay and–” Sherlock sighed as if exasperated with the inability of phrasing his own thoughts, “ _I want to play a scene with you at some point._ ” The sentence left his lips so quickly that it sounded like a single word. “So, do you want me to tell you everything I’m okay with in a scene? Every… kind of play I’m amenable for?” Sherlock asked self-consciously. He had never felt _that_ out of his depth.

“You don’t have to be too explicit if you prefer not to, but we need to establish some rules and limits to start with.”

Sherlock frantically thought of an efficient way to put the chaos in his mind palace into actual, coherent words. “Can you talk about some of the things that are essential to _you_?” he asked instead.

“Sure,” the ex-army doctor replied and smiled at him. _Trust John Watson to guide them both through this._ “First things first: Submission has to be given freely. True submission cannot be forced, but that doesn’t mean I can’t order you around if you want me to.”

Sherlock stored that bit of information away in a new wing of his mind palace and nodded approvingly.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m interested in indulging your kink without demanding anything in return. Again, this has nothing to do with me getting off on ordering you around, Sherlock.”

“Mmh… what do you get out of it then?” Sherlock still sounded sceptical, but he wouldn’t fight this time.

“I’m not sure how to explain this, but I hope you’ll understand it anyway. It… it turns me on to know that it turns you on? Yep, that’s probably as precise as it gets,” John giggled nervously.

Sherlock felt his pensive, sceptical façade crumble in turn. “What else?”

“I think it’s safe to assume that you’re fine with including all of the sex toys we’ve already used?”

Sherlock mentally flipped through the diverse collection they’d purchased over the months and couldn’t suppress a grin. “Hm, yes.”

“What about light bondage? Handcuffs, ropes… nothing too fancy yet?”

“Oh, definitely yes. I like being physically restrained, it makes me feel… _safe_.” For a split second, Sherlock was startled by how easily John could turn his doubts into confidence. He had never thought about it from that perspective: outside of a scene, actively negotiating the possibilities.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” John’s answer confused Sherlock even more, but John only grinned. “I’m not a switch, but I’ve experimented with both sides. I don’t feel comfortable at the receiving end of dominance, but it’s quite helpful to understand first-hand what is going on in your partner’s mind.”

Somehow, this particular background knowledge made Sherlock feel even more eager to submit to that amazing man. _His_ amazing John.

“What about names during a scene?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“You have a thing for soldiers, so _Captain_ or _sir_ works fine for me. This doesn’t have to be reserved for roleplay, though.” John briefly wondered whether he’d still fit into his old army fatigues. “What about you?”

“I’m okay with most names unless they’re downright humiliating or insulting. You can use belittling ones, but don’t _ever_ call me 'pet'.”

“Duly noted.” It didn’t take much to figure out what that was about. “You’ll also need a safeword. I suggest we take things slow, experiment what we’re both comfortable with, but I won’t play with you unless you choose a safeword.”

Sherlock thought about it, avoiding the ones he had already used because it also reminded him of _why_ he had used them. He’d need a good one… “Tungsten.”

John silently repeated the word. “Good.”

It was a ridiculous idea to identify with any chemical element, but Sherlock found it quite fitting. 'Extremely high melting point, resistant to pressure, impossible to shape when not bound with others, requires some effort till it’s easy to work with, surprisingly brittle, used for military grade bullets…' he thought.

“I may have a military kink, but gun play is a hard limit.”

John seemed startled. “It’s so off-limits for me that I didn’t even consider it until now.”

Sherlock felt relieved. “I’m glad we agree on that one.”

“When it comes to hard limits, we have to accept and agree on every single one of them, Sherlock. It doesn’t work any other way.”

Sherlock sifted through the depths of his mind palace for a moment. “Knife play, wax play, breath play and collars are also off-limits. I’m fine with wearing wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs for bondage, though. What about your hard limits?”

John didn’t have to think twice. “There aren’t many I’ve encountered as a dominant play partner… I don’t like inflicting pain if it goes beyond 'mild'. I’m fine with bringing my military persona into that, but I won’t engage in anything medical."

“That’s not on my kink list, either. What if I want you to push my soft limits or try something that’s new for both of us?”

“Then we’ll have to talk it through again. But for now, let’s also talk about the things we enjoy.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “You should know that I have a mild humiliation kink.”

John gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Go on.”

“I enjoy nipple play; clamps, ice, whatever you can think of. Aside from that, you already know what I like.”

“How do you feel about impact play?”

Sherlock smirked at the other man. “Feel free to use my riding crop.”

After a brief silence, John went on: “Also, I enjoy taking care of you. Not only but especially when it comes to making sure that you get enough food and sleep.”

Sherlock contemplated the possibilities of that aspect given their developing dynamics. “I haven’t changed my mind about that, but under the right circumstances I might let you take care of me. I’m still married to my work, but feel free to _experiment_.”

John grinned at the implication. “Speaking of which, when was the last time you ate something?”

“Today’s… Monday, right?” _Only adding to the effect_ , of course he knew–

“Tuesday, Sherlock!”

“Two days ago,” he admitted feebly.

John gave him a stern look. “Right... You wait here, _sweetheart_. I’ll be back in a few.” He grabbed their empty teacups on his way back to the kitchen.

John’s tone hadn’t been distinctly commanding, but Sherlock didn’t want to risk punishment just to satisfy his curiosity. Instead, he simply followed John’s request. It was a welcome pause that allowed him to expand and organise the new wing in his mind palace. John would never call him names that made his skin crawl. He’d never hurt him unless he explicitly begged for it and even then, he’d take care of him afterwards. Sherlock mentally created a secret passage to the small but steadily growing room labelled 'trust'. All of his former relationships, even the non-kinky ones, had eventually tried to destroy it… The dull sound of two plates being set down on the coffee table in front of him brought him back to the present.

 “You can’t seriously expect me to eat any of this before the case is closed,” Sherlock said determinedly and glared at the jam-laden toasts as if they were poisonous.

“I won’t have you fainting from exhaustion again.”

“I’m not hungry and you can’t force me into eating breakfast.” Sherlock wrapped his dressing gown tighter around his lean frame and pouted.

Time to change tactics then… “Don’t have to. But you might get a little reward if you do.” John leant closer towards Sherlock and covered the side of his neck with hot, wet kisses.

“That’s bribery.” Sherlock tried to keep his breathing steady, but he was already close to panting and definitely getting hard again. John had learned exactly how to make him come undone. “ _Mmmmh John_ …” he moaned when John sucked and nibbled at the love bite he’d created earlier.

Satisfied with the result John sat back and let his gaze roam unabashedly over the bulge in Sherlock’s trousers. “Oh, but you rather like the currency.” John flicked the tip of his tongue over his upper lip before he averted his gaze.

_Damn tease._ “Fine,” Sherlock snapped and obediently reached for a slice of toast.

John was pleased with himself when they ate in companionable silence. By the time Sherlock swallowed down the last mouthful of toast, there was a bit of strawberry jam in the left corner of his mouth. Adorable, how a tiny detail could compromise the rest of his immaculate appearance…

“What?” he asked mildly annoyed when John smirked at him.

“Oh, nothing.” John suppressed a giggle and reached out to wipe the smudge away with his index finger. Before he could register the movement, Sherlock had already turned his head to suck the fingertip into his mouth and lick it clean with kittenish flicks of his tongue, all the while looking up into John’s eyes. _Trust Sherlock bloody Holmes to sexualise his favourite jam…_

“Good boy,” John cooed when Sherlock let go off his finger. He didn’t miss how Sherlock’s cheeks tinged pink at the praise. _Good to know_. “It always makes me feel uneasy when you deliberately neglect your basic needs for a case. I’m so proud of you, Sherlock, and you’ve clearly earned a reward for that.”

Sherlock blushed even more at how pleased John sounded. “Thank you, John.”

“Do you want to play now or when the case is solved completely?”

He was thankful that John offered him the latter option, but his throbbing erection was hard to ignore. “Now. Please, now, sir,” he answered, already in the right headspace.

John granted him a smile, crossed the room and locked the door to keep potential clients and Mrs Hudson from walking in on them. Sherlock was still sitting on the sofa, his attention solely focused on John while waiting for commands.

“Come here.”

Sherlock gracefully got to his feet and walked towards John who was still standing near the door to their flat. Keeping a small distance that respected John’s personal space, Sherlock was about to assume a kneeling position in front of the other man, but John stopped him with a simple: “No, sweetheart.” Sherlock gave John a confused look. “You don’t have to kneel for me unless I order you to. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good.” He let his gaze roam over Sherlock’s body: his soft blackish-brown curls, sharp cheekbones, enticing lips; the way his too tight button-down shirt accentuated his long, pale throat, lean muscles, peaked nipples… “Strip.”

Sherlock let the blue dressing gown slide off his shoulders and placed it over the armrest of the sofa. He unzipped his trousers and shuffled them off just as quickly, then efficiently unbuttoned his shirt to get rid of that as well. The black boxer briefs were tented by a massive erection and Sherlock sighed when he finally took off the restricting fabric.

Again, John only looked at him. “I’m lucky you’re mine.” He locked eyes with the other man. “You are so beautiful, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blushed furiously. “Thank you, sir.”

John turned around and grabbed Sherlock’s scarf from the coat rack. “Do you trust me enough to blindfold you with this?”

“Yes, sir.”

John draped the soft fabric over Sherlock’s eyes and tied the ends together behind his head. He placed a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back. “Follow me.” John walked closely beside Sherlock as he guided them to Sherlock’s chair by the fireplace. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

Sherlock slowly sank into his chair. The pleather felt weird on his naked skin, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.

“Spread your legs a bit more and place your hands on the armrests, I want you to keep them there until the scene is over.” Sherlock obeyed him immediately. “Good boy.”

John placed one knee between Sherlock’s open legs to keep his balance and leant forward to flick his tongue against Sherlock’s left nipple.

Sherlock hadn’t anticipated John’s move at all. He gave a gasp that turned into a drawn-out moan when John closed his lips around the small bud and sucked gently. Sherlock dug his short fingernails hard into the pleather in order not to press John’s mouth closer against his chest. When John had sucked the pink flesh to full hardness, he focused his attention on Sherlock’s other nipple and pinched the left one between his thumb and index finger instead. Sherlock tilted his head back and arched his chest into the teasing touch. He almost sobbed when John carefully worried the right bud between his teeth. “Please, sir,” he groaned without knowing what he was actually begging for.

John leant back and grinned. Sherlock’s knuckles had turned white with the effort to obey John’s command and his body was quivering all over. The head of his jutting erection was already wet with precome… John knelt down on the floor between Sherlock’s legs.

“You’ve really earned this reward, sweetheart, but there’s something you can do for me in turn.” His hot breath brushed against Sherlock’s cock as he spoke.

The detective mewled. “Anything you want, sir.”

“I want you to think of a fantasy you’ve had; something that involves your military kink.”

Sherlock had quite a few, but for now he picked his favourite one. John couldn’t possibly miss the grin on his face when he remembered the details.

“Good. I will make this reward very pleasurable for you, but I want you to tell me about that fantasy while I suck you off.”

“Yes, Captain.” Sherlock gasped when John licked a wet stripe over his pulsing length from root to tip. He took a steadying breath. “In this fantasy, we’re not roleplaying. I _am_ in the army for real. You’re my Captain and I can’t help being disobedient and bratty, but you’ve found a way to make me very, _very_ pliant.”

John smiled as he flicked his tongue over the slit and tasted Sherlock’s bitter precome. He could think of a couple of ways to make Sherlock aware of his authority.

“You’re angry with me because I’ve embarrassed you in front of the whole squad with my deductions. We’re in your quarters and I am kneeling in front of you, completely naked. You’re tying my h-hands–“ Sherlock’s voice hitched as John swirled his tongue around the head of his cock, “my hands together behind my back because you don’t trust me not to touch myself. I’m absolutely gagging for it, but you’re touching yourself instead.”

Sherlock’s thoughts short-circuited at the sound of a zip being pulled down. John sighed as he palmed his partly freed erection through his pants and for a moment, Sherlock felt like the scene was merging with his fantasy.

“Go on, Sherlock,” John commanded before he took the head of Sherlock’s cock into his mouth and sucked hard. Sherlock moaned loudly.

“Aaaah, fuck! You haven’t let me come in a week and my balls feel sssso heavy. My cock is so hard it hurts, but all I can do is watch you wank and listen to all the th-things you want to do to me when I’m finally off punishment.” Another moan escaped his lips when John engulfed all of Sherlock’s rigid length in the wet heat of his mouth and swallowed around him.

John pushed his jeans and pants off his hips, closed his left hand around his cock and stroked himself in a slow rhythm.

“I’m whimpering and begging you to fuck me, but you still deny me any kind of release. I promise that I can be good for you, but of course you want me to prove it, so you grab my hair and fuck my mouth instead. Goood, Captain!” Sherlock groaned when John bobbed his head up and down on his crotch. John hummed around him, the hand that worked his own cock was moving faster by the minute.

“It’s rough and intense, but I like it. I’m moaning around your cock, tears stream-streaming down my face when you make me take your entire length down my throat, but you don’t care. I swallow around you, want to please you so badly. You keep on fucking my mouth but sssuddenly pull out when you’re close. I’m beg-begging you to let me suck you off, but you say that I don’t even deserve to swallow your cum until punishment’s over.” John withdrew his mouth from Sherlock’s cock to fill his lungs with some much-needed oxygen.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John panted and began to stroke himself in earnest now.

“Instead, you’re bringing yourself over the edge, stroking your cock hard and fast until you come all over my face. You tell me that I’m not allowed to wash it off until everyone in the squad knows that I’m your little slut.”

“Oh fffuck, Sherlock!” John was done for. He came hard all over his abdomen and hand, but he didn’t allow himself to ride out the afterwaves of his intense orgasm. Instead, he wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock, using his own come as lubricant to reduce the friction. Sherlock squirmed under the touch, but he obediently kept his hands on the armrests.

“It’s filthy and humiliating and you don’t keep that threat, but you know that it makes me even harder… nnngh, I’m close, sir. Please… _please!_ ”

John added a particular twisting movement on each upward stroke that he knew would drive Sherlock insane. “Come on, _soldier_. Come for me!”

It took two, three more strokes and Sherlock bucked into John’s fist and came with a shout. John stroked him through his orgasm and murmured encouragements and sweet little praises into Sherlock’s ear. He couldn’t take his hands off the man till he was whimpering with the overstimulation.

“You’re so good for me, Sherlock. Such a good boy.” John kissed him affectionately. “Don’t move. I’ll be back in a sec.” John went to the bathroom and returned with a wet flannel and a glass of water. He wiped them both clean, removed Sherlock’s 'blindfold' and guided them back to the sofa. He wasn’t exactly tired again, but a little rest would be important for Sherlock.

“Here,” he said and offered Sherlock the glass of water. “Drink up.”

Sherlock gulped the liquid down greedily. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he’d got in the aftermath of the scene. He set the glass back on the coffee table and stretched luxuriously on the sofa, his head resting on John’s thighs. John raked his fingers through the soft curls and gently massaged Sherlock’s scalp.

“Is everything alright, Sherlock?”

“More than alright,” he purred happily.

For a while, each of them simply enjoyed their blissful state of mind in complete silence.

“John?” Sherlock asked eventually.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to stock up on toast and jam.” They broke into a giggling fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is finally finished :D  
> I know that they talk *a lot* about this kink, but SSC is very important to me.


	3. Close call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While working on the case, Sherlock gets himself into a dangerous situation. John is a good and caring dom, but he can deliver a punishment when necessary.

It wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon that Sherlock got an update on the case. He had spent the last 24 hours rewinding the details over and over in his mind, but something about the murder just wouldn’t fall into place. He felt like one of the key elements remained hidden in the dark, but by 4:30 p.m. illumination came in form of a phone call. An upset sounding Lestrade explained to him that not one but both suspects were guilty. Unfortunately, only one of them was still in custody. The other one…

“Spain?!” Sherlock repeated incredulously. “How the hell did he even leave the UK?”

Greg mumbled some apologetic nonsense about not being able to keep someone in custody without sufficient evidence. “I had to let him go yesterday and I couldn’t keep an eye on him while interviewing his brother, Sherlock!”

“Then ask your _boyfriend_ to improve the security system,” Sherlock hissed.

“Mycroft is _not_ my–”

Sherlock didn’t bother listening to the end of the sentence: “So, you are calling me just to tell me that you totally messed up some basic police work for the… what? Third time this month?”

“Sherlock!”

“Sorry, it’s really hard to keep count these days. Is it the fourth time already? Maybe I should text Mycroft and tell him that he’s too much of a distraction…”

“Sherlock, listen! We’ve already contacted the police in Seville. Right now, Thomas is in police custody and on a plane back to London. He’ll arrive at Heathrow in about forty minutes. He’s escaped once and it might be a bit challenging to convict him completely without your assistance. Will you come?”

As always when Lestrade needed his help, Sherlock didn’t know whether he should be pleased with London’s criminal class or lose all faith in the NSY completely. “Sure.”

“Thanks, mate.” Greg rang off.

Sherlock threw his phone on the bed and quickly changed his dressing gown for a black suit jacket. _Rush hour, Marylebone, Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick…_ They couldn’t possibly arrive in time. “John!” he called and headed for the sitting room. “John, get ready, hurry up. We’re leaving in five minutes!”

“What? Why?” John looked up from his laptop. He was writing on a blog entry about the upcoming veteran reunion since the only results of going over their case for hours had been a very disgruntled Sherlock and a mild headache for his part.

“Remember when you said that Lestrade can manage the case on his own? You might want to take that back now.”

Sherlock quickly put on his shoes and by the time he slipped on his coat John was already on his feet. He hurried to get ready as well, not without picking up his gun from his bedside table. When he came back into the sitting room, Sherlock spun around on his feet, Belstaff swirling behind him. He was clearly looking for something and John knew exactly what. He went to his own chair by the fireplace and held up Sherlock’s scarf.

“Looking for this, love?” he asked with a grin.

Sherlock’s face turned beet red when he remembered _why_ it was there. He snatched the scarf from John’s hand and wrapped it around his neck. 

Before John had a chance to comment on Sherlock’s adorable reaction Sherlock was already running downstairs, as always leaving it to John to bother with the keys and cash for the cab.

~

 

“What happened?” John asked when they were inside the cab and Sherlock basically yelled their destination at the cabbie. “Why the airport? Did I… miss anything; are we going to a different country?” Seemed just like Sherlock to leave in a hurry and not even bother with any luggage. Of course, the clever git knew that John always carried his passport with him. It had actually helped him to save a lot of time when getting access to a crime scene; to prove that he was _the_ John Watson without having to call Greg and making an innocent police officer listen to Sherlock’s insults in the meantime.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. There were, in fact, six different things that could have helped John deduce that they would stay in London. “We are only going to the airport to help Graham wrapping up the case.”

“His name is Greg, Sherlock. _Greg_!” John interposed.

“Whatever. The NSY had both suspects in custody, but not at the same time. While Thomas was free to go because Lestrade failed to see the obvious and missed all evidencing details there are, he managed to convict his brother, Oliver. As it turns out both of them are guilty, but Thomas escaped to Spain while Lestrade interviewed his brother,” Sherlock explained in his usual, slightly arrogant manner.

“So, we’re going to the airport to pick a suspect up?” John sounded confused. Usually, they only went to the Yard for interrogations.

“Yes, obviously. Gavin would rather send them straight to Pentonville than back into NSY custody and he needs my help to convict the second criminal.”

John didn’t correct him this time. He had already spent seven months trying to teach Sherlock Greg’s actual name and he knew better than to feel concerned about a lost cause in the middle of a case. Sherlock’s phone pinged with an incoming text. The detective sighed and quickly typed out a response. “Lestrade?” John asked and darted a glance at his boyfriend.

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied but couldn’t be arsed to look at him.

~

 

When they arrived at Heathrow airport, John was struggling to keep up with Sherlock – not only because Sherlock left him behind to pay the cabbie, but also because he hurried down the crowded terminal with single-minded focus. John had to run to keep up with the taller man’s pace.

Lestrade and his team of two uniformed police officers were waiting in a less crowded part of the arrivals area. Greg looked mildly distressed and John had a faint idea that it might have something to do with one of the many text messages Sherlock had typed out furiously.

“Sherlock, I had nothing to go on! I had no bloody clue that he was planning to escape!”

“Escape? No, no, no, I’m sure he went to Seville to enjoy the nice weather! Of course he would try to escape!”

Lestrade sighed exasperatedly. “As I’ve already explained to you–”

Sherlock gave a derisive snort. “If you can’t keep them in custody at the same time, track every movement of the one who leaves first to–”

“Keep it down, both of you!” John commanded with all the authority of _Captain_  Watson he could muster. He was fed up with the other men’s childish bickering. His tone of voice served its purpose and he honestly didn’t care what other effects it might have on Sherlock. There were more important matters at hand. “Has our suspect arrived yet?”

“The plane’s going to land any minute now, sir,” one of the uniformed police officers chimed in.

“Good. That’s… good,” John said awkwardly. He looked at Sherlock, but the detective impatiently strode up and down the arrivals area, probably deducing random passers-by to keep his mind occupied.

John turned to Lestrade instead: “What is it with you and Sherlock lately?” He hadn’t missed that Sherlock picked at the DI’s mistakes more than usual.

“He’s, um…” Greg cleared his throat, “he’s become insufferable since he figured out that I’m in a relationship he doesn’t approve of.”

John had no idea who Greg’s girlfriend could be or why Sherlock was so agitated about it, but he sure as hell wouldn’t ask. Greg already looked uncomfortable without revealing any of the details, but there was something else that John was rather keen to know: “Insufferable _how_?”

Greg laughed it off. “There’s nothing you can do about it. Trust me, mate, I know him longer than you do.”

John darted a glance at Sherlock and smirked. “I have my ways.”

The consulting detective stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted two Spanish police officers arriving with their murder suspect. There was no way that Thomas could possibly escape the trial, but he was still struggling against the police officers’ hold on his upper arms. Sherlock focused all of his attention on the suspected man. _Angry with himself, still thinking he could have got away with it; stupid, stupid mistake. Feeling superior? No, just the average beginner’s mentality. Looking daggers at Lestrade and the other Yarders; gaze drifting to the gun attached to the belt of the policeman to his left, repressing a grin, going to…_ “Watch out!” Sherlock called as soon as he realised the man’s intention, but it was too late.

Thomas pretended to trip over his own feet but instead of falling to the ground he moved forward, effectively yanking his arms free from the police officers’ grip. Before Sherlock had time to go through the possible scenarios, Thomas had already got hold of the gun. He pointed it at the Spanish police officers, took a few steps back and moved around them in a half circle so that he was also aiming at John and the Yarders.

_John_. 'Delete possible scenarios,' Sherlock thought and refocused on the present situation. Thomas handled the gun in a way that would probably result in injuring or killing someone, even if he set it off accidentally. Sherlock’s gaze wandered over the charcoal steel: apparently, the man was so nervous that he hadn’t noticed how the safety was still on. Sherlock approached him slowly.

“Don’t fucking move!” Thomas screamed and pointed the gun directly at Sherlock now.

_Hands slightly shaking. Adrenaline, lots of it. Oh. OH! That’s exactly how they’d caused the clinic effect before killing her!_ Sherlock smiled triumphantly but pretended that he didn’t dare to move. “I know exactly how you killed her; you and your brother. You’re an idiot, acting on impulses, but the plan was well thought out.”

John did not know which reaction was more appropriate: rolling his eyes and giving an exasperated sigh or laughing hysterically. Only Sherlock had the nerve to call an armed criminal who pointed a gun at his head 'idiot'. In the end, he did neither and reached slowly, ever so slowly, for his own gun instead.

Sherlock went on: “Oliver, yes, _he_ is the clever one; only used you like a marionette so he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty. But the best part is that you fell for it, completely. With the substantial evidence you’ve both left behind it was child’s play to convict your brother. But he’s trying to attenuate his sentence, so he sold you down the river, Thomas.”

“You’re lying! We had a bloody deal!” Thomas brought even more distance between him and the police officers.

“Oh no, not _bloody_ at all. Is that why you thought the police would never catch you?”

“Shut up!” Thomas cried, his index finger quivering on the trigger.

“Believe me, I’m only getting started–” before Sherlock had a chance to finish his sentence, Thomas tried to pull the trigger, but the gun only made a clicking sound with the safety still on. John and the other police officers quickly drew their weapons as well, but they didn’t get a proper chance to aim at the man who was already disappearing into the dumbfounded crowds. Sherlock didn’t have to think twice.

“Sherlock, wait!” John shouted when his boyfriend ran after the suspect without due care. Thomas would eventually figure out that the safety on his gun was still on. _Fuck!_ John had no alternative but to run after the killer as well in order to protect Sherlock. He still had his service gun, now tightly clutched in his left hand, and was ready to use it if he had to. Sherlock knew that as well, but that didn’t give him a bloody reason to run after an armed murderer!

Luckily, it wasn’t a usual occurrence seeing someone with a gun running down an airport hall. Most people quickly jumped out of the way, especially when they saw Lestrade and his team follow closely behind. Let them think John was the suspect; he honestly didn’t care. All he had to do was keeping Sherlock safe!

“Where the fuck are they?!” Lestrade shouted after a while. They had completely lost sight of either Sherlock or the suspect. “Tell airport security to check all gates, exits and staff area, too!” he commanded one of his police officers, then addressed the other one. “Emma, go to the second floor, I’ll search the first one; John, _that way_ ,” Greg gestured straight ahead. They split up and John looked frantically for a tall man with dark, curly hair. He almost panicked when five minutes went by without even the slightest trace of Sherlock. Another two minutes passed before he spotted Sherlock’s silhouette in front of the huge window facade to his right. John redoubled his pace and arrived just in time to see that Sherlock was trapped against one of the glass panels at gunpoint. John quickly assessed the situation: this time, there was only the curved metal of the trigger between Sherlock and a bullet.

“Stop this ridiculous nonsense, you won’t get away with it!” he heard Sherlock’s slightly breathless voice when he came within hearing distance.  

The criminal was only a few yards from John, but he couldn’t aim at him because there were still too many people between his gun and the potential target.

“Perhaps I will,” Thomas growled and pulled the trigger seconds before John tackled him to the ground. The sound of shattering glass eased John’s anxiety a bit. Thomas let go of the gun to use both hands to fight John off, but he didn’t have a chance against the ex-army doctor. John pressed the man face first against the greyish tiles with practiced ease. He kept him there with one knee on the spine, the man’s arms crossed behind his back. Thomas tried to wriggle his hands out of John’s vice-like grip, but it was inescapable.

A wave of relief washed over John when he turned his head to see that the bullet had indeed missed Sherlock and splintered the window behind him instead. “Sherlock, I’ll need your handcuffs here,” John said matter-of-factly. He waited patiently, but Sherlock didn’t move. He only stared at John, his eyes shimmering in a way that did not at all suit the situation at hand.

Sherlock secretly wondered what it would feel like if he manhandled _him_ like that. What it would feel like to have his hands tied together behind his back, naked and at the mercy of Captain Watson. John’s voice brought him back to the matter at hand all too soon.

“Sherlock, your handcuffs. Now!” John commanded in his Captain voice.

Sherlock obeyed him immediately. 'I’d do anything for this man if he orders me around in _that_ voice,' he thought giddily with a mix of adrenaline and arousal.

Lestrade joined them a few minutes later. “Are you guys alright? I heard the gunshot.”

John took a deep breath. “He aimed at Sherlock, but hit the window behind him instead. Anyway, do you mind if we leave for today? I want to give Sherlock all the time he needs to process everything that just happened.” It seemed like the perfect excuse. John knew that Sherlock didn’t go into shock that easily. What he _really_ needed was a punishment.

“Yes, of course. Just make sure to pop in tomorrow. I still need Sherlock’s help and I’ll also need your statements on this, but there are enough charges to file in the meantime.” Lestrade tilted his head towards the handcuffed man.

“Thanks, Greg,” John mumbled and rushed away from the scene. He didn’t want to look at Sherlock, Thomas or the splintered glass panel. Sure enough, these images were pretty clearly edged into his memory already. He cared about Sherlock. He was angry with Sherlock. He was angry with him _because_ he cared, but he didn’t say a single word about either. Not now, not yet. First, he would have to make a difference between venting his anger and helping Sherlock understand _why_ he was angry. The latter would be more effective when working on Sherlock’s lack of discipline.

Sherlock tried to reach out to him a couple of times while they headed straight for the line of waiting cabs, but John ignored him completely. He didn’t trust himself not to yell at Sherlock.

~

 

“Are you mad at me?” Sherlock asked sheepishly when they entered the sitting room of 221B. John hadn’t said a single word during their cab-ride home, let alone looked at him.

John put his jacket on the coat rack and slowly turned to look at Sherlock. “ _Mad at you_? Sherlock, do you have any idea – any idea at all – how dangerous and stupid that was?! He almost shot you; you almost got yourself killed today!” John took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. “You clearly lack discipline and your behaviour today was unacceptable, which means that punishment is in order. Do you understand that?”

Sherlock would endure about any punishment to be his _good boy_ again. He managed a feeble: “Yes, sir.”

Even the prospect of punishment seemed to get to Sherlock. John was glad that he had already planned out the details of the scene during the cab-ride because one look at Sherlock’s face would have been enough to destroy John’s plans if he had to make them now. “Give me your safeword.”

“Tungsten, sir.”

John took a few steps towards Sherlock who was standing in the middle of the sitting room. “Good. If anything becomes too intense, I want you to use it. If anything I do exceeds your limits, don’t hesitate to use your safeword, Sherlock. You don’t have to justify or explain anything if you do.” He couldn’t stress this often enough.

Sherlock swallowed nervously and forced himself to look directly at John. Why would he possibly need his safeword? John respected his limits and offered him physical comfort, even after a reward! “Yes, Captain.”

John took his sweet time before he gave Sherlock the necessary instructions. Patience was only one of the things that John would have to teach him. The ex-army doctor tried to keep his voice calm as he spoke: “I’ll go to our bedroom now and collect all the things I need for the scene. When I come back, I want you kneeling right where you are standing now: completely naked with your hands behind your back. Lock the door before you strip.” John didn’t wait for Sherlock’s whispered 'yes, sir' before he turned around and headed for the bedroom at the far end of their flat.

He chose everything he needed for Sherlock’s punishment as planned and looked at the small collection of items on the bedspread. Especially one of them reminded John of what was still missing: his own patience in this. He should never, absolutely _never_ punish a sub when his own emotions still played into it. Sherlock trusted him, submitted to him freely, and John would be damned if he threw that gift away in a fit of rage. He reconsidered their negotiations and both their limits and felt his anger ease by the minute. John picked up the items and went back to the sitting room – this time, he was in the right headspace.

~

 

Sherlock felt like he was on the verge of tears. He had disappointed John with his disobedience. He’d never felt bad about it with other doms, but John was the last person to deserve this. John loved him, he cared about him, cared enough to remind him of his safeword before the scene. Sherlock swallowed the feeling down before it could get the better of him and quickly locked the door. He had no idea how long John would need to choose all the items, so he stripped as hastily as possible and knelt down on the soft carpet between the fireplace and the coffee table.

Ten minutes later John entered the sitting room with a bottle of lube, a middle-sized butt plug, leather-padded handcuffs and Sherlock’s riding crop. When Sherlock caught sight of the latter, his skin began to tingle with fearful anticipation. It was a love-hate relationship to say the least. He relished the sharp sting that made him gasp and moan with each stroke, more precise than a paddle but nowhere near as painful as a cane. Sherlock’s pain threshold was rather low for a sub.

John set all items down on the coffee table and moved to stand in front of the kneeling man. He’d have to speak with Sherlock first, make him comprehend _why_ he was getting punished. “Of course I could tell you why I was angry with you, but there’s no point in that. I want you to _understand_ , Sherlock. Why was I angry with you?”

Sherlock was out of his depth. Why couldn’t John just get on with the fucking punishment? “I don’t know.” John grabbed a handful of curls and pulled moderately until Sherlock looked up at him. “I don’t know, _sir_.”

“Then put that big brain of yours to a better use than some criminal’s target practice. _Deduce_ it!” John hissed.

The mild pain on his scalp kept him grounded. Deducing, yes, that would work. Sherlock stuttered through his observations: “You… you’re angry because I disobeyed you. You told me to wait and I… I just couldn’t. All I had in mind was chasing Thomas down. I didn’t listen to you when I should have.”

“Damn right you didn’t. What else?”

“I put myself in fatal danger because of that. But you saved me, like you always do.” John tugged a bit harder on Sherlock’s curls and elicited a low moan. “You were afraid that you wouldn’t be there in time; I noticed the panic in your eyes. You like to protect me, it’s like an unspoken vow you’ve burdened yourself with, but sometimes I’m taking that option right out of your hands.”

John was positively surprised by Sherlock’s answer. He let go of Sherlock’s hair and carded his fingers through the ruffled curls instead. “Precisely. I think you’re in the right mind-set now, sweetheart. Stand up and go to the sofa, I’ll need you on your knees again for the next part. Face towards the wall, place your arms on the backrest.”

Sherlock was relieved when John asked him no more questions about emotional context. He knelt down on the soft leather cushions, his knees a shoulder-width apart, then leant forward to brace both forearms on the backrest. He rested his head on top of his arms for comfort and arched his hips ever so slightly to draw John’s attention even more to the pale skin of his arse. The mere thought of having the whole area covered with red, stinging welts was enough to make Sherlock’s half-hard cock twitch in anticipation.

Instead of choosing the riding crop, John reached for the bottle of lube. He coated the index and middle finger of his left hand with a proper amount of the transparent gel and placed his right hand on the small of Sherlock’s back to steady him.

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut when he felt the warmth of John’s hand on his lumbar vertebrae. It was a reassuring touch that connected immediately with the 'trust' area in his mind palace. Sherlock still gasped in surprise when two slick fingers began teasing and toying with his rim. John worked him open with cruel efficiency, not once brushing against his prostate. Sherlock tried to push his hips back into the touch, but John stopped him with a hard slap on his left arse cheek. “None of that. Behave, Sherlock!” he commanded sharply. Sherlock moaned when the small amount of pain flared on his skin, but he knew better than to misbehave on purpose.

When John was convinced that he might as well add a third finger, he slipped both fingers out of Sherlock’s well-prepped arse and picked up the butt plug instead. He covered the toy with lube as well before he pressed it against Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock groaned wantonly, but John showed no mercy. He gave Sherlock’s arse another slap for good measure, only increasing the loudness of his needy moans. Sherlock struggled hard not to writhe in pleasure and want when John slowly fucked him with the toy. “Please, Captain, give me all of it. I really need it, _please_ , sir,” he begged desperately.

John finally took pity on him and pressed the plug deeper into Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock whimpered as the thickest part was slowly pushed past his rim. John tapped against the end of the plug when it was fully buried in Sherlock’s tight arse and Sherlock moaned in response. He was enjoying this way too much. “Put your hands behind your back, now!” John demanded and Sherlock hurried to obey. Before the detective could wrap his mind around the purpose of the unexpected command, he already felt the soft leather padding of the handcuffs around both wrists.

John took one of the bigger sofa cushions and put it on the floor next to the coffee table. “Get up,” he commanded and helped Sherlock by steadying his upper body with both hands. Sherlock’s skin felt warm and damp under John’s fingertips, but it was nothing compared to the hot, sweaty mess Sherlock would be when he was done with him. “Kneel down on that cushion and get as comfortable as possible. You’ll stay there for quite a while.”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock breathed. He was thankful that John helped him yet again to get into position. Moving gracefully with his wrists cuffed together behind his back was not as easy as he had thought it would be. Sherlock sighed when the plug shifted inside of him and nudged against his prostate with the changing posture.

John hooked one finger under Sherlock’s chin and tilted his head up. A pair of grey-blue eyes immediately met his. “Now listen closely, Sherlock. You are not allowed to come without my explicit permission. You can moan and whimper all you like, but the only words I want to hear from that gorgeous mouth are when you’re close to orgasm.”

Sherlock didn’t reply to that because he felt that even a simple 'yes, sir' was enough to violate the rules John had just set for him.

John smirked down at the kneeling man. “Clever boy,” he cooed, sat down on the sofa and switched on the telly. Sherlock looked at him questioningly. “Oh, don’t mind me. I still have to keep up with some pre-recorded episodes of EastEnders,” John said casually while reaching into the pocket of his jeans for another, hidden remote. Sherlock yelped in surprise when the plug in his arse began to vibrate on a low setting, but John ignored him.

Sherlock felt the pleasure rise and ebb in waves, but his arousal was constantly building. Sherlock clenched his hands into fists and did everything he could to take his mind off the buzzing toy in his arse. He even tried to focus on the boring, predictable soap opera that happened to be John’s favourite show. It worked for a while but ten minutes into the first episode Sherlock felt his body approach the sharp edge of orgasm with increasing intensity. He didn’t want to give John the satisfaction of knowing that ten minutes and a vibrating butt plug were all it took to make him fall apart. He really didn’t want to beg for release already, but as if on cue, John switched the plug to a higher setting. Sherlock almost lost his posture and a needy groan escaped his lips. Suddenly, he felt himself standing right on the edge.

“I’m close, sir! Oh, God, I’m close…” he moaned breathlessly and John turned the vibrations off. Sherlock whimpered and struggled to cope with the denied release. Being forced to let go of his orgasm for the first time wasn’t painful yet, but it wasn’t comfortable either. His body trembled slightly with the desperate need for release and he panted hard while fighting the urge to shift a bit and rub his throbbing cock against the pillow. It would be so easy, a barely noticeable change of posture… but his need to please John was much stronger than his need to come.

John left him like that for a couple of minutes, occasionally darting a glance at him to see whether he was ready for another go. When Sherlock’s breathing returned to normal, John switched the plug back on. This time, he started right away with the second setting. Sherlock groaned and mewled through the onslaught of sensations, but John only grinned. “No use in whining, Sherlock. We’re only getting started,” he said but kept his eyes firmly on the telly screen.

Sherlock had never felt more turned on… and frustrated. Oh, yes, definitely frustrated. His heart was pounding wildly against his ribcage when he felt his orgasm build for the second time. “Please, sir, _please_ ,” he begged, but that wasn’t quite what John wanted to hear.

John picked up the riding crop and Sherlock hissed when the broad, cool, smooth leather tip was dragged up and down the underside of his pulsing cock. “Mmh, poor boy. Are you close?” John asked with feigned cluelessness.

John’s question turned the warm, tingling sensation in Sherlock’s lower abdomen into a roaring fire. “Yes, sir. Yes, I’m– OOOH YES!” Sherlock cried out and for a split second he was afraid that he couldn’t hold the impending orgasm back. John turned the plug off just in time and watched as Sherlock’s body struggled hard to let go of its slowly receding orgasm.

Sherlock was on the verge of tears and his entire body shivered with the force of the strict denial. He was panting so hard that John feared he might black out from it. “Breathe, Sherlock, shhh. Deep, calm breaths of air. Just like that, theeere you go.” It still took a while until Sherlock began to calm down again. This time, John waited for Sherlock’s erection to flag a bit before he decided that Sherlock was ready for the next round of edging.

~

 

Two episodes of EastEnders and five denied orgasms later John was convinced that Sherlock had enough discipline play for today. Well, at least he was _almost_ convinced. He decided to test Sherlock’s obedience one last time. He switched off the telly and focused solely on the trembling, sweating man at his feet. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Didn’t even beg for mercy when I edged you with the highest settings.”

_Sweetheart_. Sherlock closed his eyes against the onslaught of feelings. Getting praises after a punishment always made him feel emotional.

John walked around him and knelt down to uncuff Sherlock’s hands. Due to the soft leather padding there were no marks on Sherlock’s wrists, but John massaged them nonetheless. He whispered into Sherlock’s ear: “I think you’ve learned your lesson for today, but the scene isn’t over just yet. When I let go of your wrists, I want you to move to the sofa and lie down on your back. Put your arms and legs into whatever position is most comfortable for you right now. Can you do this for me?”

Sherlock didn’t know how much time passed before he managed to answer. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” John’s simple praise was enough to tip him over the edge emotionally. Sherlock tried to suppress a little sob, but he couldn’t keep his emotions from spilling over. He shook slightly when he felt the hot tears spill over his closed eyes and run down his cheeks.

John let go of Sherlock’s wrists when he noticed his reaction and quickly moved to stand in front of the quivering man. “You’re crying, sweetheart. Are you alright?” John checked in with him.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed and nodded silently, but John needed to be sure. He placed his right hand against the left side of Sherlock’s jawline, relieved when Sherlock snuggled into the touch. “Look at me, Sherlock. Do you want to use your safeword? Is something keeping you from doing this?”

Sherlock’s answer was immediate: “No, sir.” He forced himself to open his eyes, blinked the tears away and looked directly at John. “I’m fine, thank you, sir.”

John brushed his thumb over Sherlock’s cheeks to wipe the tears away, then moved his hand to Sherlock’s hair and gently caressed the sweaty curls. After a while, John assessed that Sherlock was calm enough to go on with the scene. “Do you still remember the instructions I gave you?”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock answered and complied without hesitation.

He got to his feet, grimacing a bit when his knees hurt with the sudden movement, and lay down on the comfortable sofa. He stretched both arms along his body, his hands resting on either side of his hips. His right leg was sprawled out along the backrest, but he let his left leg hang off the sofa completely. Sherlock’s cock lay heavily on his abdomen, its head dark pink and shining with precome.

John only watched while Sherlock sprawled himself on the couch. The dark leather complemented his pale skin beautifully. He sat down between Sherlock’s spread legs and continued teasing him with light, oh so light butterfly kisses on his thighs.

Sherlock struggled to keep still whenever John’s lips moved anywhere near his groin, but they never quite touched his cock. Without warning John licked over a small patch of skin on Sherlock’s inner thigh. Before Sherlock had time to process John’s intention, he was already sucking a love bite into the delicate skin. Sherlock’s hips involuntarily jerked up a bit and he mewled in frustration. John licked over the reddened skin once more, sat up and looked at Sherlock’s swollen cock. “Poor boy, you want to come so badly, don’t you?”

Sherlock nodded frantically, but when there was no verbal response to John’s question, John leant forward and teasingly breathed on the dark, wet head of his cock.

Sherlock whimpered and hurried to answer: “ _Oooh Captain_ … Yes. Y-Yes, sir, I need to come.”

John knew that he had him right where he wanted him to be. “How about I remove the plug now and give you a nice little handjob instead?”

Sherlock didn’t have to think twice: “Yes, please, Captain!” He planted his right foot flat on the sofa and arched his hips off the seat to make it easier for John to remove the plug. Sherlock winced when the rigid toy nudged against is overstimulated prostate, but he waited patiently while John set the plug aside for cleaning it later. Again, John reached for the lube and squeezed a dollop onto his left palm.

The first contact of John’s warm, slick palm with his aching hard cock was marvellous. “Nnngh, sir, just like that. Ah, aaaah, AAAH YES!” Sherlock moaned throatily when John closed his fist around his pulsing cock and delivered a couple of slow, firm strokes with just the right amount of pressure. Sherlock was back on the edge in no time when John began to work his cock faster. “ _Aah, aaah, ooooh God_ … Yes, yes, _yes_! FUCK, you’re making me come, sir!”

Sherlock arched up into John’s fist but instead of tipping him over the edge, John quickly closed his thumb and index finger around the base of Sherlock’s erection in a tight circle. Sherlock arched his neck and gave a frustrated, high-pitched whine when he realised that his desperate need for release was neglected for the sixth time in quick succession. His thighs were trembling hard and his cock twitched helplessly, but John only released the tight grip when he was sure that Sherlock wouldn’t come the moment he let go.

“Please, I’m begging you, sir, please let me come!” Sherlock moaned brokenly.

John withdrew his hand from Sherlock’s cock altogether. “You didn’t think that you’d actually get away with a bit of edging, did you? You are not allowed to touch yourself and you are not allowed to come until Saturday evening, Sherlock.”

_Saturday evening_. Sherlock slumped back onto the sofa in a breathless, boneless puddle of misery. Tears were streaming down the sides of his face but he barely even noticed them.  

“It’s alright, calm down, sweetheart. The scene is over now,” he heard John’s voice clearly, but the usual evening sounds of the city as well as everything else sounded as if underwater or really far away. It simply aligned with Sherlock’s state of mind: floating, disconnected from his body, not able to focus on anything but John. Sherlock wasn’t sure whether three minutes or three hours passed till he realised that the insistent throbbing in his cock and balls subsided.

John stood up from the sofa, took both Sherlock’s hands into his and helped him get into a sitting position. He did not let go of Sherlock’s hands when he crouched down in front of him. “Come on, sweetheart, look at me,” he demanded softly and Sherlock opened his eyes. They were glazed over, his pupils dilated, gaze slightly unfocused. John recalculated the amount of aftercare Sherlock was going to need. He sat down on the couch as well, his entire body turned towards the naked man. “Do you know why I chose this punishment over the thorough spanking you deserved?”

It took a while till the question registered in Sherlock’s mind. He turned his head towards the man next to him and managed to lock eyes with John. “No, sir.”

“Because it might help you understand what it feels like when the person you love completely ignores what you need most at that moment.”

Suddenly, a new flood of tears was spilling out of Sherlock’s eyes and he did not know how to stop it. He had disappointed John. His loving, caring, protective boyfriend had tried to keep him save and he had disappointed him. The unpleasant feeling settled heavily in his mind palace.

John wrapped both arms around Sherlock’s shaking frame and Sherlock simply broke. He clung tightly to John’s warm, soft jumper and buried his face in the crook of John’s neck as he uttered a series of heavy sobs. “I’m sorry, John. I’m a fucking idiot, I’m so sorry,” he snivelled.

“Shh, it’s all fine, love. You’re with me now, I’ve got you.” John carded his left hand soothingly through Sherlock’s hair. “You’re still alive, you’re still breathing and I’ll always keep you safe, my sweet, beautiful boy.” It took a couple of minutes till Sherlock’s sobs faded to hiccoughing breaths, but John waited patiently. He helped him calm down with gentle, caressing touches and reassuring words until Sherlock was breathing evenly against his chest in a doze-like state.

“Let me take care of you now,” John whispered and sat back a bit. Sherlock looked utterly debauched. His body was covered in a mess of sweat, tears, lube and precome. “Let’s get you a nice, warm shower and some dinner. Sounds good?”

Sherlock smiled at him. “Very good, John.”

 “Come on then, sweetheart.” He took one of Sherlock’s hands and guided him towards the bathroom.

~

 

Sherlock sighed when he stepped into the warm spray of the shower. It was an unfamiliar feeling to have someone else’s hands wash his body clean and massage his favourite, sandalwood-scented shampoo into his hair, but Sherlock liked it. He closed his eyes when John rinsed the foamy gel off again.

“I could get used to doing this every day,” John said and smiled.

Sherlock chuckled. “You’d only ruin my curls, John.”

“Too bad. But don’t worry, love. It’s one of the things I don’t want to ruin about you.”

Sherlock turned around and gave John an affectionate kiss. When they broke the kiss, he looked squarely into John’s eyes. “You like taking care of me,” he announced matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, obviously,” John giggled.

“And you like to protect me, you feel like you fail if you can’t.”

John’s look became serious. “Yes.”

Suddenly, it was child’s play to deduce the emotions John had suffered through earlier. “It’s clear from your body language right now that you are still agitated about everything that happened. The thought of losing me still terrifies you, but it’s not about the fact that a bullet missed my head for 10.5 inches. It’s because everything that happened today reminded you of what it feels like to actually lose someone you love. You told me that a bit of edging isn’t enough to compensate my stupid mistake, but _you_ are on edge ever since it happened the first time. You feel like it’s your fault, but you can’t take it back so you try to protect me whenever you can.”

John’s eyes were glistening with tears, but he didn’t allow himself to cry.

Sherlock bent down to press his lips against the scarred tissue on John’s left shoulder in a short but loving kiss. “Why did you never tell me?” he whispered against the skin.

John quickly blinked his tears away – might as well make them look like drops of water.

Sherlock leant back and looked at John, but it was clear from his expression that it was too painful to talk about it now. “Let me take care of you as well, love,” he murmured and reached for his bottle of shampoo to take care of John in one of the ways he had taught him how.

Sherlock also took it upon himself to make dinner for both of them and he didn’t complain when John snuggled up a bit closer against him than usual that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:   
> \- guns!!! (No kinky gun play though.)  
> \- PTSD (John)
> 
> Don't worry, I'll write about the reunion and the military aspect eventually. I just wanted to focus on their dynamics first.


	4. Priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their last session was somewhat intense. John is going into Dom drop and Sherlock is being Sherlock, so things don’t go too smoothly.

“John?” Sherlock asked as soon as the shorter man in his arms began to stir. John had slept close to him all night, his face snuggled against Sherlock’s chest. He had listened to Sherlock’s heartbeat and breathing, his right arm curled tightly around Sherlock’s waist to keep him close and feel the warmth of his bare skin reassuringly under his fingertips. He hadn’t said a single word about anything Sherlock had deduced, not even when hot, seemingly unstoppable tears he hadn’t allowed himself to cry for far too long had painted both his face and Sherlock’s chest wet. John had cried and shaken in Sherlock’s arms and Sherlock had let him. He hadn’t said anything in turn, just wrapped his arms even tighter around John’s trembling body and placed soft, loving kisses on top of his head. After a while they’d fallen asleep like that.

Sherlock smiled at the way the early morning sun played with John’s mostly greyish hair. Some of the strands looked almost sandy blond in the golden beams of light. He pressed his lips softly against John’s forehead and when he pulled away, a pair of gentle blue eyes was looking back at him. All remnants of last night’s sadness were gone and the look on John’s face was something close to gratitude. Because Sherlock had offered him physical and emotional comfort in turn? Because he hadn’t tried to coax John into saying things he wasn’t ready talking about yet? Probably both, he decided.

“Hey, gorgeous,” John whispered sleepily and tilted his head up to give Sherlock a proper good morning kiss.

Sherlock kissed him back enthusiastically and gave an annoyed groan when both their mobiles pinged with incoming texts. Sherlock broke the kiss and rolled over to his side of the bed to snatch his smartphone form the bedside table. “It’s from Lestrade,” he sighed and scrolled through the text. “He wants to have our statements by ten.”

John darted a glance at his watch. “We’ll better get up then.”

Sherlock smiled when an idea formed in his mind. “Why don’t we just take a shower together? To save time and all…”

“Brilliant idea, but saving time isn’t the only reason, is it?” John grinned.

Sherlock felt the heat rising in his cheeks and cleared his throat. “The thing that you did yesterday… I liked it a lot, John. It was good,” he admitted and smiled when he was rewarded with another kiss.

~

 

Ninety minutes later they were sitting in Lestrade’s office, giving their statements and wrapping up the case officially. Sherlock listened with feigned interest when they went over John’s statement for a second time and slowly drifted deeper and deeper into his mind palace.

The morning had been _good_ to say the least, but something about John’s behaviour was off. Emotions were never easy to analyse – let alone when they affected him on a personal level – so Sherlock replayed the events in his mind to work to the core of the problem.

_His hands on John’s hips, John’s sweet sighs reverberating off the tiled bathroom walls as he kissed down the side of his neck. Warm water running down both their bodies in a constant stream, John’s morning erection clearly begging for attention, but John acting all sheepish about it and gently swatting Sherlock’s hands away from his crotch. Whispered words, “It’s fine, sweetheart,” and “you really don’t have to… I’m good.”_

It had been a bit unsettling. John never passed on an opportunity to get off with him. What if John was already disappointed that he had slipped up so soon, that he had to be punished a day after they’d negotiated everything? He had told John that he could be challenging sometimes... and a few days of orgasm denial wouldn’t change that.

_A disappointed question, his voice sounding weak and self-conscious even to him… “Why not, John?”_

“Sherlock?”

_A makeshift explanation: “Just like I said, it’s fine, love.” John turning around in his arms and managing a half-hearted smile before kissing him, affectionately, reassuringly, kissing him in a way that conveyed all his love for him._

“Sherlock?” John’s voice finally dragged him out of his thoughts. He gave John a quizzical look.  

Lestrade rolled his eyes at him. “For God’s sake, Sherlock, are you even interested in the bloody case?” he asked mildly annoyed.

“Why else would I be here?” Sherlock retorted and slipped on his usual mask of aloofness. He decided to let nothing on about his thoughts or the fact that they had nothing to do with the case.  

_Priorities, Sherlock. Choose them wisely._ Mycroft’s voice echoed through the halls of his mind palace. _Caring is not an advantage, brother mine._ Sherlock briefly closed his eyes and willed the memories to go away, even though Mycroft was probably right. He had a case to focus on! “Sorry, I got caught up in my own thoughts. What did you say?”

Lestrade sighed. “I said I got a preliminary statement, but I still need a valid confession.”

“The deductions I sent you weren’t conclusive enough then?”

“You know how it works, Sherlock. The police solved the case–” Sherlock snorted derisively and John smirked. “ _You_ solved the case, but I need an official statement for the paperwork. Thomas didn’t say anything about his motive or the murder itself.”

Sherlock sighed and leant back in his chair. “Fine, I will help you on one condition. The next time you and your _lover_ – or whatever it is the two of you are – get in a fight again, I don’t want either of you to bother me with the details or ask for advice.” Sherlock’s tone was harsh.

John’s mouth gaped open and his eyes couldn’t decide which of the two men to focus on, but he didn’t say anything. For whatever reason, Greg’s relationship really seemed to get to Sherlock. Greg looked a bit embarrassed due to John’s presence, but neither he nor Sherlock cared to elaborate. He hadn’t had the chance to ask Greg about it the last time it came up, but he’d definitely ask Sherlock about it as soon as they got home again.

Greg bit his lip and seemed to think about it for a moment. “Deal,” the DI said curtly and stood up from his desk. “But I _really_ need your help with this case. Our suspect is already waiting in one of the interrogation rooms.” The three of them headed for the lifts since the interrogation rooms and custody section were four floors beneath the DI’s office.

“John, if you don’t mind, just wait on the other side of the one-way mirror this time,” Greg said nervously. It was clear that he was concerned about the suspect’s well-being.

John shrugged and confirmed the DI’s fears: “Might as well. I’d probably punch him in the face considering that he almost killed Sherlock.” Sherlock had clearly earned his forgiveness yesterday, but he was still angry at the other man. John flinched involuntarily when he felt Sherlock’s hand gently stroke over his. He hadn’t even realised he’d curled it into a tight fist, his fingernails digging into his skin and leaving half-moon-shaped imprints on his palm.

Sherlock tentatively intertwined his fingers with John’s. He was relieved when John let him. “You don’t have to watch the interrogation at all, John,” he insisted and looked straight into the other man’s eyes, making it very clear that it was more than a simple suggestion. He knew exactly what was going on in John’s mind and he wouldn’t let him suffer through facing Thomas again if he couldn’t help with the case anyway. “I don’t mind if you go home already. I won’t be long,” Sherlock said and pressed his lips gently against John’s temple.

When they stepped into the by now familiar corridor Lestrade slowly turned away from the couple and took a few steps towards the interrogation rooms, giving them some space to agree on whether or not John would stay.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone with a man that almost shot you.”

Sherlock sighed. “Your fears are irrational, John. I’m not alone, there are two armed police officers present during the entire interrogation and there is nothing you can do to help. We don’t have to talk about yesterday’s incident ever again if you preferred not to and I think you could really need a little break from the case.”

John wanted to disagree, but Sherlock had a point there. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he admitted and slowly let go of Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock smiled at him and turned around to follow Greg, leaving him alone to make his way back home.

~

 

John took a deep breath and exhaled in a slow, steady stream as soon as he was alone in the back of a cab. He watched as a particularly big raindrop trickled down the window and realised that his mood had become just as changeable as the London weather.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked and John briefly met his eyes in the rear-vision mirror.

“221B Baker Street,” John replied automatically and immersed himself in his thoughts again. Of course it wasn’t the first time Sherlock had almost got killed during a case, but it had never got to him the way it did now. Yes, there had been nightmares about faceless killers running after them and fatally injuring Sherlock, but they had been just that: dreams. They hadn’t kept him on the verge of a panic attack during his waking hours.

Fortunately, he hadn’t had a nightmare last night. The warmth of Sherlock’s skin and the even breathing next to him had been enough to convince even his unconscious, irrational dream-self that the detective was very much alive and safe. No, seeing Sherlock die in his dreams wasn’t the problem this time. The case had reached for a particular memory he had tried to distance himself from as far as possible and had dragged it back to the surface. Trying to forget about something and actually coming to terms with something were two very different things John realised bitterly. As soon as he thought about the shattered glass and the small distance between the bullet and Sherlock’s head, the other memories were there, haunting him, mocking him. As if he could change a bloody damn thing about the past! John groaned and cursed under his breath. It hadn’t been that bad since he moved into Baker Street with Sherlock!  

He considered the chances of Sherlock not noticing that his PTSD got the better of him once again and almost laughed at the absurdity. His boyfriend probably knew already that something was off. The way he had deduced him after their last session… No, John decided to come clean with Sherlock, to talk about every bloody detail if need be. Getting the words out once and for all wouldn’t be easy, but still easier than having his own thoughts thrown back at him in one of Sherlock’s brilliant deductions.

_Saturday_ , John decided. He’d talk about it before they’d go to the reunion together. John felt a little more confident when the cab pulled up at the kerb outside of 221B.  He gave a twenty pound note to the cabbie and quickly hurried inside through the drenching rain.

Mrs Hudson came out of her flat when she heard the front door close. “Oh, hello, John!” she greeted him and gave him a motherly hug as soon as he slipped off his dripping wet jacket. “Are you alright? You look terrible, dear!”

“I’ve had better days,” he answered evasively and managed a smile that didn’t really reach his eyes.

“Would you like to have a cuppa? I have a freshly brewed pot of tea and some biscuits, too.”

“That’s lovely, thanks.”

“Come in, dear,” she chirped and nudged him into the small kitchen of her flat.

John thanked her yet again when a plate of ginger nuts and a steaming cup of English breakfast tea were set down in front of him. He added a dash of milk and watched as the cooler liquid swirled around in the cup, whirling up bits of tea grounds.

“Just take another one upstairs for Sherlock. You know I’d carry the tea up myself, but my hip is really bad this morning.”

John sighed. “Actually, Sherlock is still at the Yard.”

“He’s not in trouble, is he?” the landlady asked, sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for John to do the same.

John looked at her, considering what he could and couldn’t tell her. “He’s fine, I suppose. Not in trouble with the police if that’s what you mean.”

Mrs Hudson fidgeted with the hem of the tablecloth before she finally spoke. “It’s none of my business, John, but I know when something’s not quite right between the two of you.”

The room fell silent for a couple of seconds and John swallowed a mouthful of tea before he answered. Of course he could insist that everything was just fine between them, but he knew that Mrs Hudson wouldn’t believe it for one second. “Sherlock almost got shot yesterday.”

The landlady set her teacup back on the saucer with a clattering sound. “Oh John, I can see why you’re so agitated! It must have been quite a bit of a shock for you.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he admitted vaguely and took another sip of the warm, strangely calming tea.

“What exactly happened yesterday?”

John heaved a sigh and forced himself to look at her. “We were working on a case together. One of the suspects escaped and had to be brought back from Seville. At the airport, he managed to get hold of one of the police officers’ gun and… well, Sherlock ran after him. Unarmed as usual, of course.”

Mrs Hudson shrugged apologetically. “He has always been like that, dear. Self-care isn’t really one of his priorities.”

“He’ll better make it one of his bloody priorities!” John huffed. He was getting angry again, but he regretted it almost immediately when Mrs Hudson flinched a bit at his loud voice. “Sorry.”

“If I were you, I’d be angry as well. You worry about him, that’s all. Did he at least apologise to you?”

John tried hard not to blush and give the nature of Sherlock’s 'apology' away when he remembered last evening’s scene. However, he couldn’t supress a little smirk. “Actually, yes. Yes, he did.”

“See, that’s what I meant, dear. He didn’t mean to hurt you or make you worry about him, it’s just because he’s…” Mrs Hudson was struggling to find the right word.

“Sherlock,” John offered helpfully and the landlady smiled.

“We should really make his name into an adjective, don’t you think? It would be easier to describe at least nine out of ten things that way,” she quipped.

John chuckled. “Great idea… though I have an inkling that he wouldn’t approve.”

~

 

“That was tedious!” Sherlock complained as he entered their flat three hours after John had left the Yard. John looked at him from where he was sitting at their makeshift desk, typing away on the latest blog entry between piles of official NSY case files and papers with handwritten notes scribbled all over the page.

He didn't pay much attention to John, took off his coat and scarf and let himself flop onto the sofa facedown. Before John had a chance to join him, Sherlock stretched and sprawled out, claiming the entire sofa like a spoiled cat.

“You okay over there?” John asked amused.

Sherlock always got sulky when a case turned out to be less interesting _and_ harder to wrap up than anticipated. He made an indifferent sound.

“Can I publish the case now?” John asked, hoping that he hadn’t spent the last hour of writing in vain.

“Yes,” Sherlock mumbled into the cushions, also confirming that the case was officially closed. He never wanted the unfinished ones to be published. He ruffled his hair with both hands, then suddenly lifted his head up to look at John. “Wait, what did you call it?”

John only smiled as he clicked on the 'post' button. “You know it wouldn’t hurt you to read my blog from time to time.”

“Boring, dull, predictable… I know all the details! Why would I read about something I already know?” Sherlock complained. He sat up as he noticed the single cup of tea on the coffee table (one of Mrs Hudson’s) and sniffed at it. English breakfast tea, no milk but at least one spoonful of sugar. John had made it for him, then.

“It’s yours, but it’s probably cold by now,” John explained and closed the lid of his laptop. “I could make you a fresh cuppa if you like.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock replied and took small sips of the sweet, cool tea as if to convince him.

“There’s something I still don’t get.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “When it comes to the things that escape your understanding, you’ll have to be more specific, John.”

John chose to ignore the insult. “Why are you so upset about Greg’s relationship?”

Sherlock glared at him. “Of all people who live in London, it had to be _Mycroft_ ,” he snarled and looked away.

John’s mouth gaped open in silent incredulity. “Are we talking about the same person here? Mycroft _Holmes_ , your–”

“Don’t be daft, John, of course it’s my stupid brother!” Sherlock’s expression became softer when he looked at John again. “You look surprised. Why?”

“I’ve never taken him for someone who’s interested in other blokes… Greg, that is. Anyway, how did you find it out?” John asked with genuine curiosity.

“They had a stupid fight and Lestrade called me, asking for advice and insisting that I knew Mycroft better than anyone else.”

“He’s probably right.”

Sherlock shrugged. “At least they’re happy now.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” John asked carefully as he noticed the look on Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock decided to tackle _their_ problem head-on. “This morning, when you were naked and obviously _very_ hard, I wanted to take care of that. I wanted to make you come whatever way you please. Why didn’t you let me?” He could have tried to make it sound less reproachful, but that wasn’t his style. He wanted to hear John’s point of view, _now_.

“So, _that_ is bothering you all day?”

“Of course it is! You’ve never…” Sherlock trailed off and closed his eyes, trying to keep the hurt and anger to himself. “I’ve gone over every single possibility, every seemingly unimportant detail, but I still don’t understand _why_ you wouldn’t let me do this for you.”

“You can’t analyse everything as if it were a sample under your microscope, Sherlock. Feelings don’t work like that, _people_ don’t work like that!”

“Then explain it to me. Please?” He looked at John hopefully.

John shifted around on his chair. He was clearly feeling uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to take advantage of your submission.”  

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Take advantage how?”

“Please hear me out, yeah? It’s about your punishment yesterday. I have already told you that I don’t like inflicting too much pain. Of course I checked in with you to make sure that you were completely okay with the things we did, but it’s still a bit difficult for me. We already are in a relationship. I care about you in ways that exceed simple aftercare for a sub and I just…” John heaved a sigh. “I’ve never seen you cry, Sherlock.”

Sherlock chose his answer carefully. He did not want John to feel guilty about exploring their kinky side because of _that_. “I didn’t cry because it was too painful or I wanted you to stop. For a moment everything felt incredibly intense, that’s all. I did not safeword because I didn’t have to. Everything you did, every reaction you caused was well within my limits, John.”

“Then why did you cry again when the scene was over?” John asked confused.

Sherlock felt his patience for talking this through become thinner by the minute. “That’s a natural response of my body when I’m in subspace. I can’t control it.” God, talking about this was even more tedious than talking about Lestrade and his brother! Why did John sound so sceptical?

“I just want to make sure that I didn’t push your limits there and–”

“You _didn’t_!” Sherlock snapped impatiently. “It takes a lot to push my limits within the boundaries we negotiated. Apparently, a lot more than _you_ are capable of! Don’t think for a second that I’m weak or vulnerable because I’ve got a history with a mediocre Dom who gave a crap about aftercare. You are nothing like him and it’s not your task to make up for his stupid mistakes! When I say I’m fine, I mean it.”

John smiled at him the way he always did when he was really, _really_ pissed off. “Keep talking like that and I’ll give a very clear idea what I’m capable of as a Dom. You think I can’t handle bratty behaviour?” John’s voice was dangerously low, but it didn’t affect Sherlock in the slightest.

“It doesn’t matter anymore because I don’t want your domination if you really think that a bit of edging is enough to cross my limits. I’m nothing like the fragile little _pets_ you’ve had before me!” Sherlock huffed and curled into a tight little ball, turning away from John. He half expected him to ask for his safeword again, to deal with this right away… but instead John grabbed his jacket and headed downstairs.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock called after him, caught between pouting and worrying – about John… and their relationship. When John didn’t answer, Sherlock closed his eyes and went into his mind palace. He had to find a solution for this till Saturday. _He had to_!

~

 

John didn’t pay much attention to where he was going. Regent’s Park would be awfully crowded on a sunny Thursday afternoon, so he decided to head for the inner city. Other than that, he really didn’t care about directions. All he needed was some time to himself, some time to think about their quarrel.

'I’m nothing like the fragile little pets you’ve had before me…' He thought about Sherlock’s words again and again. _Pet_. No, they’d sorted that one out resolutely. _Fragile_ … that was a different and quite complex thing altogether. Sherlock wasn’t fragile per se, but John knew from experience that he tended to ignore his physical limits when he had more important things on his mind. It didn’t make him vulnerable by default, but it could become very dangerous under the wrong circumstances. When Sherlock chose his need to please and submit over his own limits…

'And what kind of Dom does it make me when I didn’t realise this before?' John thought. He still wasn’t convinced that he hadn’t pushed him too far. It would explain why Sherlock had become all bratty and provocative… to defend himself. He should have been more careful, should have stopped the scene immediately the first time Sherlock had cried.

Part of him wanted to go straight back home and apologise to Sherlock, even though he’d probably be too angry and defensive to even listen… Then again – despite the circumstances – Sherlock would have to learn that acting like a brat got him nowhere. John felt his head spin with the conflicting ideas.

He hadn’t participated in any kind of power play since he’d joined the army and Sherlock had told him about his consensual but questionably safe and sane experiences. Why had he even agreed to indulge Sherlock’s military kink in the first place? He’d been selfish and he ended up hurting Sherlock just like the stupid Dom before him. What if Sherlock wanted to break up with him altogether? To find a better Dom… maybe even a better boyfriend?

“John! Over here, mate.”

John snapped out of his thoughts and looked around. It wasn’t much of a surprise his feet had automatically carried him near his favourite pub. He was, however, surprised to see Lestrade standing outside, smoking and chatting with a group of other Yarders. John smiled and walked up to him.

“Where’s Sherlock?” Greg asked good-humouredly.

John’s smile faded away. “Not with me, obviously.”

Greg finished his cigarette but waited a moment while the others went back inside. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked as soon as Donovan was out of earshot.

John heaved a sigh. “Yes, but I really can’t talk about it.”

Lestrade nodded understandingly. “Why don’t you just join me and the others? Drinking, chatting… the average Thursday afternoon. You look like you could need a pint or two.”

He considered the options. It was either a casual evening with some of his friend and a few pints or more wandering about the city and worrying himself sick over Sherlock and their kinky dynamics. “Sounds good,” John gladly accepted the offer. A little distraction from the problem at hand was more than welcome.

“Oi, Lestrade, next round’s on you!” one of the lads called when Greg entered the small pub.

“Same as usual, John?” Greg asked already heading for the counter and John nodded in approval. He didn’t normally drink alcohol as a Dom (it wasn’t worth the time he had to wait till he was completely sober again for the next session), but he assumed he and Sherlock weren’t going to play anytime soon…

~

 

'Weak,' Sherlock thought. 'I’ve told him too much about my previous Dom and now he thinks I’m _weak_.' That was why he had suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to fight John off, despite of all the trust John had earned. ' _Because he doesn’t trust me._ '

It was the only possible explanation for all those questions. Other than the crying, John had had no reason to assume that he’d pushed his limits. Sherlock felt safe, respected and cared for when they were playing. He couldn’t imagine wanting to play with anyone else anymore, even though they still had to find the right balance in their dynamics.  

The kind of dominance John used was good. _Gentle, considerate, responsible_ … but it wasn’t the only thing Sherlock needed. He remembered the first part of their negotiations, the things John had said about trust and submission. In John’s opinion, submission could never be forced but sometimes that was exactly what Sherlock needed to give up control, to feel owned and valued as a sub. It was also one of the reasons he’d become angry when John had implied that he had pushed his limits. Yes, he didn’t like heavy pain, but otherwise he could take much, much more. John on the other hand…

John had become overly concerned about his well-being and – Sherlock suddenly opened his eyes, there was something, a tiny little _something_ deep in his mind palace that rushed to the surface in a dizzying pace. He’d have to do some research first, though.

Sherlock stood up from the sofa and grabbed the nearest laptop. 'A new password? Really, John?' but it was only a matter of twenty seconds till he figured out the new one. The search results that turned up a few minutes later were consistent. He roughly understood what John was going through, but he had no idea what _he_ could do about it. Sherlock cleared his search history. Instead of wasting even more time on trying to find the right answers, he grabbed his smartphone and scrolled through the contacts. Of course he knew _her_ number by heart, but there was something comforting about seeing the name attached to said number. Sherlock typed out a text message, his thumb hovering over the 'send' button. He felt self-conscious, stupidly so, but she owed him a rather huge favour after all…

**Tell me everything you know about Dom drop, especially how to stop it. – SH**

The answer he got an hour later was much longer than expected but also very helpful. He sent back a short thank you of sorts, then typed another text message for John.

**John, I’m sorry about the things I said earlier. I’ve been acting like a bratty sub and a terrible boyfriend. As my Dom, you can punish me whatever way you see fit or leave it at that. As my boyfriend, please come home. – SH**

Sherlock put his phone back into the pocket of his suit jacket and went into the kitchen to make some tea. He wasn’t even thirsty, but he needed something to occupy his time with for a bit. After that, he could still anxiously wait for a reply.

~

 

As it turned out, there were three hours of anxious waiting. Out of boredom, Sherlock had started a new experiment on the average growth rate of mould cultures under different amounts of oxygen, light and temperature. He tried to focus as best as he could, but he felt miserable when John wasn’t home by ten. He checked his phone for the umpteenth time, but nothing had changed. For some reason, John hadn’t even read the message yet! It wasn’t the first time that John was angry with him, but he had never ignored him so blatantly obviously. In fact, John never ignored him. He would become upset, give Sherlock some space and come back when they had both calmed down again. Being ignored was just…

Sherlock put one of the culture dishes into the crisper and closed the fridge door more forcefully than necessary. He wished for nothing more than for John to finally come home. Apparently, Dom drop could be a really dark state of mind and – even though _he_ was the very reason John was in that kind of headspace – he would try everything to get John out of it.

When there was still no sign of him by ten thirty, Sherlock decided to go to bed on his own for once. Hopefully, John would be there when he woke up in the morning. Their fight had been terrible, but John never spent the night anywhere else. Sherlock pulled the blanket tighter around his crouched frame. Minutes went by in a torturously slow pace and no matter how hard he tried to think about his latest experiment, after a few seconds he was back to worrying about John…

Sherlock lifted his head from the pillow when he heard the front door open and close quietly. He darted a glance at his mobile to see that it was well past eleven. He just lay there in the dark, waiting and listening intently. John’s movements were slower than usual and the way he climbed the stairs sounded… clumsy? Sherlock sighed and turned his back to John’s side of the bed. They couldn’t talk about this properly when John was tipsy! He’d just pretend to be asleep and they could talk about everything in the morning.

He wasn’t really surprised that John entered the bathroom first. Even three pints (judging by his reaction time and the way he moved) couldn’t keep him from brushing his teeth. Sherlock would have smiled if he wasn’t feeling… well, whatever it was he was feeling.

Though his face was turned away from the door, Sherlock closed his eyes instinctively as John entered the room. He heard the rustling sound of fabric hitting the floor and seconds later John lay down next to him. “Sherlock?” he whispered into the dark silence between them. Sherlock opened his eyes. At least John’s speech wasn’t overly slurred. “Please look at me, sweetheart. I know you’re not asleep yet.”

Sherlock bit is lower lip, tears welling up in his eyes despite himself. He couldn’t blame John for staying out all evening. He felt terrible, but John was the one who needed some reassuring words now. He flinched as a warm hand lightly touched his upper arm.

“Sherlock, please,” John was begging now, sounding slightly concerned.

Sherlock eventually turned around and looked straight at John. He cursed silently when the tears spilled over and his eyes provided a blurry image of John opening his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sherlock leant forward and pressed his lips against John’s in a desperate, messy kiss. John tasted like toothpaste and the lingering tang of lager, but Sherlock didn’t mind. “Don’t ever leave like that again,” he gasped between kisses and pressed himself tighter against John. “Or at least let me know that you’re alright.”

“What do you mean?” John asked breathlessly when Sherlock pulled away.

Oh. He still hadn’t read it then. “I sent you a text message a couple of hours ago,” Sherlock explained and angrily wiped the tears away with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t… wait a second.” John sat up, reached for the jeans he’d discarded next to the bed and searched the pockets for his phone. He tried to turn it on, but the screen stayed black. “Bloody thing,” he cursed and fumbled with the charger he always kept on the bedside table.

“Let me,” Sherlock insisted and helped him plug in the phone. John put his hand over Sherlock’s, hesitating when Sherlock kept the phone clutched tightly. “John, when you read my message, whatever you think about it… let’s talk in the morning. Please,” he begged and slowly let go of John’s mobile.

“Alright,” John promised, but his expression changed completely when he eventually scrolled through the text. He read it a second time to make sure he wasn’t too pissed to just see what his eyes wanted him to see. “Oh, sweetheart… I’m so sorry,” John choked out and pulled Sherlock closer against him with his free hand. “I know what this must’ve looked like to you, but I love you. I’d never… _never_ ignore–”

God, John always became sentimental when drunk. Sherlock shushed him with a quick kiss. “Tomorrow, John, trust me. There are quite a few things I want to say, but if I say them now, you probably won’t remember half of it in the morning. You deserve to hear and remember _all of it_.”  

John swallowed hard but nodded slowly in agreement.

“You’re tired,” Sherlock stated the obvious.

“Yes.” John put the phone aside and shifted back into a lying position.

“I’m not, but I’m not going anywhere either. I just want to be close to you if you let me.”

“Yeah, of course, love,” John said tiredly and wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist when Sherlock snuggled up to him. “What about the tears? Are you ok?”

Sherlock smiled against John’s chest. “I am now.”

~

 

John blinked awake to the sound of his phone buzzing silently on the wooden surface of the bedside table. As soon as he opened his eyes to the unbearably bright room a mild headache made itself known at the edges of his now conscious mind. That much he’d expected after three pints… What he didn’t expect was a phone call from Clara – his sister’s ex-wife but not quite ex-girlfriend. Normally, John would have gone to the sitting room as not to wake Sherlock, but Sherlock was still sleeping half on top of him, one arm thrown possessively over his stomach.

John took a deep breath before he answered the phone. Calls from Clara were rarely good news. “Hey, Clara,” he greeted her and she didn’t leave him any time to say more than these two words.

“Oh, John, thank God you’re finally picking up!” She sounded desperate, her voice shaking slightly. “Harry’s suffered a relapse. Six months, six bloody months wasted in a single day!”

John pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Is she alright? Are you?”

“Yeah, God knows I’m used to it,” Clara sniffed. “Harry’s not in hospital anymore, she’s home, John. She’s with me, but I have to leave for work in three hours. I… fuck, I hate her for doing this and I’m not letting her down, _I’m not_ , but I could really need your help, John. It’s just till I’m home again, but I have to work a double shift.”

John looked at the mop of black curls resting on his chest, its owner still peacefully asleep, and sighed internally. Sherlock should be his priority at the moment, but Harry was his sister. His bloody _sister_.

“John?”

“Yeah, sorry. Of course I’m coming over, just give me some time. I’ll be there before you have to go, but there’s something else I have to do first.”

He could hear Harry lulling in the background. Clara sighed in relief and managed a hurried 'thanks' before she hung up. John all but threw his phone back onto the bedside table. He had seen Harry at her worst many times before, but he had never had to sort things out in his own relationship at the same time.  

John carded his fingers through Sherlock’s unruly curls and gently massaged his head. After a while, Sherlock looked at him with sleepy, half lidded eyes and smiled. “Mmh, that _is_ a lovely way to wake up,” he mumbled drowsily and nudged his head into John’s hand like a touch-starved cat. John smirked and elicited a low, contented sound from his boyfriend when he scratched his fingernails lightly over Sherlock’s scalp. “Don’t stop!” the younger man complained when John eventually withdrew his hand.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I want to enjoy this moment as much as you do, but I have to leave in a few hours. Clara just called me; Harry’s had a relapse, rather bad one from what I can tell. I have to stay with her till Clara gets back from work, but I can worry about that when I’m there. Right now, there are more important things. So… you wanted to talk about yesterday?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said curtly, determined not to let his disappointment show while he mentally cancelled half of his plans for the day. He reluctantly lifted his head from John’s chest and sat cross-legged on the sheets opposite of him while John propped himself up against his pillow. The sudden loss of skin-on-skin contact left Sherlock feeling cold, so he reached for his blanket and wrapped it around his naked upper body. “Actually, I don’t really know where to start. There are many things we should talk about, so I’ll probably say the most important ones first. I love you, John. I love the things we did so far and I still want to play with you.”

John looked at him incredulously. “But I hurt you, Sherlock, and not in the consensual way!”

'You didn’t,' Sherlock thought, 'you really didn’t and you’re a bloody idiot for even thinking this, John!' He wanted to give John the same answer as yesterday, but that wouldn’t change anything. No, he’d have to change tactics. “What makes you think you hurt me?” he asked instead.

“You cried when the scene was over. I mean, you were very deep under, but it wasn’t that. I’ve pushed you too far and I didn’t even realise it at first, but that’s exactly why you acted the way you did yesterday. Subspace puts you in a very vulnerable state of mind and instead of helping you get back to vanilla space safely, you dropped. _I let you drop_. I don’t understand why you still want to play with me or how you still trust me.” John sounded desperate, confused and angry at himself.

Sherlock reached out for John’s hand and intertwined their fingers lightly. John’s thoughts only confirmed the things he’d recently learned about Dom drop. “I’m not comfortable talking about it, but I have to, so please just… listen. I didn’t drop without you noticing it or anything. To be honest, John, yesterday was the first time in a long time that I didn’t drop after a scene. You caught me before I even knew I needed it.” He smiled at John and felt relieved when he saw the first traces of re-established confidence flicker over John’s face. “Actually, it’s _you_ who dropped. Dom drop is far less common than sub drop, but obviously it’s not a good place for you, so please let me help you get out of it.”

John gave him a confused look. “You think I… _dropped_? How?”

“You suddenly started questioning the things we did, right? You think I can’t possibly feel safe when submitting to you even though I do. Very much, in fact. I wouldn’t trust you if I had any doubts about your competence as a Dom, John. I only said the things I said because I didn’t recognise the situation right away for what it was. You didn’t believe me when I said you hadn’t hurt me, so I assumed you thought I was weak, vulnerable. Too vulnerable to play safely or speak up when you’d really cross my limits.”

“That’s not what I thought. Well, not all of it,” John admitted. “But of course I was worrying I had crossed your limits. I care about you, Sherlock, and I still want to understand why you were crying during the scene. You weren’t in subspace then.”

Sherlock sighed. “I cried when you called me a _good boy_ because that’s all I wanted to be again. It was a bit overwhelming to actually hear you say it after the punishment.”

The look on John’s face became incredibly soft. “Oh, sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me before? You’re _always_ my good boy, Sherlock, even when you’ve earned a punishment. In fact, especially then. I wouldn’t have to punish you if I didn’t care about you.”

Sherlock filed that particular piece away for analysing later, but the concept was easy. “I understand that now, but there’s one more thing we both need to learn. It’s essential to this kind of relationship, so please don’t overthink it. As a Dom you take over a lot of responsibility. You take care of me when we’re playing and also after a scene. You make it easy for me to submit to you because you make me feel safe and respected when I do, but submission isn’t my only… _task_ , so to speak. As your sub, I’m also responsible for helping you cope with Dom drop, or better still prevent it from happening in the first place.”

John nodded understandingly. “I think talking about it has already helped me to feel a bit better. Thank you, sweetheart.” He brought their intertwined hands closer towards him and pressed his lips gently against the back of Sherlock’s hand in a short kiss.

“How much time do we have before you have to leave?” Sherlock asked and smirked.

“One and a half hours, maybe two. Why?”

“Hm, that’s a decent breakfast and still plenty of time. I want to get you out of Dom drop before you go and it’s absolutely crucial to make you feel as comfortable as possible.”

“Sherlock?” John asked mildly confused.

“Talking is good, but it’s not _satisfactory_ enough,” Sherlock rasped and grinned like a Cheshire cat when he slowly crawled over John, the blanket slipping off his shoulders on the way.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, soaking up the heat of Sherlock’s naked skin on his while he kissed him affectionately. It started soft and slow with John unhurriedly brushing their lips together, licking and sucking and nibbling at Sherlock’s lush bottom lip till Sherlock impatiently plunged the tip of his tongue past the seam of John’s lips. He flicked his tongue against John’s, slowly, hesitantly, waiting for the other man to take control again… but John let him dominate the kiss. Sherlock swirled his tongue around his boyfriend’s, gently sucked on the warm, slick muscle and hummed contentedly when John gave a soft moan.

The ex-army doctor let his fingers travel lower, slipping them under the waistbands of thin pyjama bottoms and silky boxer briefs to grab two handfuls of Sherlock’s round, firm arse. He rutted his morning erection demandingly against Sherlock’s upper thigh and Sherlock smiled into the kiss. His own cock was hard and pulsing by now, but he’d have to get used to the feeling till Saturday evening.

Eventually, John broke away gasping for breath and as Sherlock opened his eyes again he was a bit overwhelmed with the sight before him: John’s lips were kiss-swollen and slightly parted and his pupils were dilated to two black pools of arousal.

Sherlock didn’t want to mess up the roles and dynamics they were slowly establishing, but he decided to take charge for as long as John let him. He swung his left leg over John’s hips as well to straddle his upper thighs, effectively lining his cock up with John’s. Sherlock was aching for some friction, but at least he didn’t touch himself that way. He rolled his hips slowly, moaning when he found just the right rhythm. “Fuck, John, you feel so good against me,” he gasped and John only moaned in lieu of an answer.

Sherlock forced himself to stop before he got too close and focused on John’s pleasure instead. He leant forward and placed affectionate kisses on John’s cheeks, the corners of his mouth, his jawline, followed by some less affectionate and hungrier kisses on John’s throat and chest and abs. Sherlock smirked when John’s breath hitched as he dipped his tongue into John’s navel on his way down, but he stopped just before his lips reached the waistband of John’s pants.

“Please, sweetheart,” John pleaded and tried to arch his hips up, but Sherlock gently pinned him back to the bed.

The question that had suddenly formed in Sherlock’s mind just wouldn’t go away. He looked up at John through lowered lashes, hoping that his insecurity wouldn’t seep into his voice as he asked: “We can still have sex and _not_ turn it into a scene or play session, right?”

John sat up on his elbows and gave him a serious look. “Yes, of course. We’ve had casual but great vanilla sex before; that doesn’t have to change because of your military kink.” He tilted his chin up a bit. “Come here, love.”

Sherlock crawled back over John’s upper body and lay down on top of him. John buried both hands in his hair and pulled him down into another passionate kiss. “ _If_ we both wanted to play, you’d have your hands tied to the bedframe and be begging for my cock by now. Obviously, that’s not what you want right now, so I’m fine with that. Mutual respect and consent, remember?”

Sherlock smiled. “Yes, John.”

John tugged gently at the curls in his hands and Sherlock gave a soft moan as he tilted his head back obediently. John grinned. “I don’t feel like playing a scene either, but if you don’t want to break with your submissive role, you should know that you can please me _very_ much by going on with whatever you were about to do.”

“I like pleasing you, John,” Sherlock whispered and lifted himself up on his hands and knees to repeat kissing his way down John’s body. “It makes me even harder when I know you’re getting off on me submitting to you.”

John chuckled. “You’re still not allowed to come, sweetheart.” His voice became stern: “… and I’ll have to punish you if you do anyway.”

“I won’t come, sir,” Sherlock said determinedly and looked straight at John. It felt a bit weird, calling his boyfriend _sir_ when they weren’t playing, but Sherlock found it appropriate. “Not sure about you, though…” he placed wet, open-mouthed kisses on John’s pecs, sternum and abs. By the time Sherlock reached his lower belly, John was struggling to breathe evenly.

“Oh fuck, I’m so hard for you, baby,” John moaned and Sherlock felt his own desire spike in response. He’d do anything to hear John moan his name like that, but he was pretty sure what the ex-army doctor wanted most.

Sherlock licked and nibbled at the outline of John’s cock through his pants, all the while looking up at him. “Can I suck you off? Please let me suck you off, John,” he demanded, voice sounding innocent and completely at odds with the way he teased him.

“Oh God, yes!” John groaned and lifted his hips up to help Sherlock undress him completely. It took five seconds for Sherlock to get rid of John’s pants and toss them on the floor and another ten seconds to look at John’s body splayed out before him. Even looking at his naked, hard boyfriend was enough to make his own cock leak a bit of precome.

John was still lean but athletic from his army days with just the tiniest hint of pudge around his middle. Sherlock was glad he’d helped him find a healthy balance again after all those weeks of self-neglect – _bloody PTSD!_ – when John had eaten barely enough to keep himself alive. In the end, he had managed to drag him back from this dark place and he was determined to keep John happy.

Sherlock knelt down between John’s spread legs and braced his hands on either side of John’s hips; his mouth only inches above John’s crotch. John’s rock-hard cock was lying on his lower belly, foreskin fully retracted, the exposed head shiny wet with precome. It was a bit shorter than his own cock but much thicker. Sherlock licked his lips at the mere sight of it and slowly went down on John. “Let me show you just _how much_ I enjoy pleasuring you, John,” he rasped and John shivered at the promising words.

Sherlock flicked his tongue sheepishly against the base of John’s cock and traced the thick vein on the underside with only the very tip of his tongue. John moaned as Sherlock rubbed his tongue against the frenulum. His cock demandingly twitched upwards against Sherlock’s mouth, but he didn’t take it between his lips just yet. He let his saliva gather before he started at the base again, this time flattening his tongue to slick up as much of John’s length as possible. Sherlock looked up and met John’s needy gaze as he closed his lips around the head and sucked gently. He alternated between sucking and licking at the sensitive glans and John tilted his head back, his mouth falling open on a wordless moan. Sherlock dipped his tongue into the slit and hummed around John’s length when even more precome spilled into his mouth. The mostly bitter tang of it made his own cock pulse and twitch against his pyjama bottoms. Sherlock wondered for a brief moment whether he could actually come from sucking John off alone. Whether his arousal could also peak in an overwhelming orgasm only from tasting and swallowing John’s hot, salty come. He groaned at the thought; coming in his pants would play well into his humiliation kink.

Sherlock’s low moan vibrated through John’s cock and John sighed in response. He clenched his hands tighter into the sheets to keep himself from grabbing Sherlock’s hair and thrusting up into the enticing, wet heat. The idea was tempting, but he did not want to dominate his boyfriend too much when they weren’t actually playing. Not that Sherlock would mind, obviously, but John was very keen on keeping the lines between those aspects of their relationship clear.

Of course Sherlock noticed the way John was trying to restrain himself. John wasn’t submissive and aside from that he didn’t enjoy being teased as much as Sherlock did… Sherlock gave the head of John’s cock another hard suck and took more of the hot, pulsing length into his mouth. He focused on breathing evenly through his nose when the thick glans nudged against the back of his throat. His jaw ached with the effort of taking all of John in but, inch by inch, he managed. Eventually, his nose was pressed against blond, slightly trimmed pubic hair and he inhaled the unique, musky scent of _John_. Sherlock was basically drooling with need by now.

He swallowed around John’s length a couple of times and John groaned when his entire cock was engulfed in the wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth and throat. Sherlock started sucking at the base and pulled all the way off, the tip of John’s cock sliding out of his mouth with a soft _pop_.

He quickly rearranged his position and lay down flat on his stomach between John’s legs, his upper body propped up on his elbows. He curled his left hand around the outer side of John’s right upper thigh and wrapped his right hand around the base of John’s cock, gently tilting it towards his mouth. Sherlock repeated his technique, taking all of John’s cock down his throat and swallowing around it, then applying light suction and pulling off until the head almost slid from his lips. Sherlock swirled his tongue around the glans before he swallowed half of John’s length down again. He moved his hand up and down the lower half of John’s cock, stimulating it with firm, slightly twisting strokes, while his mouth worked on the upper half.

“You’re so good at this,” John breathed when he registered the two different kinds of stimulation. “So fucking good, sweetheart. _Ooooh_ Sherlock…” John’s sentence ended in a drawn-out moan, his voice breaking on his lover’s name.

Sherlock’s cheeks turned bright pink at the praise. It wasn’t the first time John commented on his blow job skills, but getting that kind of praise from someone he considered his Dom made his skin tingle. Sherlock swirled his tongue around John’s girth and bobbed his mouth up and down in fluent, gliding movements, occasionally sucking hard at the glans, just the way John liked it. After a while, his lips became sloppy and some of the mix of his saliva and John’s precome started trickling down his chin and his hand and the expanse of John’s cock between both.

John was panting for breath and he moaned obscenely when Sherlock delivered another hard suck. He sat up on his elbows and put his left hand on the back of Sherlock’s head, neither pushing him down, nor pulling on his hair again. He simply watched, mesmerised, when half of his length disappeared between red, swollen lips. “Oh God, sweetheart, you– _aaah_ , your fucking mouth!” John groaned breathlessly when a talented tongue flicked over the slit again and again.

Sherlock loosened his grip on John’s cock and fondled his balls instead. With each downwards movement he took more and more of John’s cock into his mouth and he varied the amount of suction with each upwards movement. John was a writhing, groaning mess and eventually his hips jerked up on their own accord. He wasn’t impatient per se, just unable not to thrust into the tight, slick heat.

Sherlock held perfectly still and let John fuck his mouth until he gathered enough self-control again and stopped the shallow thrusts. John caressed Sherlock’s head briefly, then lay down on his back again and threw his forearm shieldingly over his eyes. The very image of Sherlock’s red, lush lips wrapped around his cock would be enough to tip him over the edge any second now. “Shit, I’m sorry, Sherlock. Please don’t stop. I’m so close, sweetheart,” he moaned and Sherlock felt his own arousal pool low in his abdomen.

The steady pulsing sensation in his cock became more insistent and if John didn’t come soon, he would, too. Sherlock moaned around John’s cock, pressed two fingers against John’s perineum and rubbed gently, stimulating his prostate from the outside.

John arched back into Sherlock’s skilled fingers, enjoying every bit of it. “I’m, I’m– fuck I’m gonna come. Christ, _Sherlock_!” John babbled incoherently.

Sherlock quickly took all of John into his mouth and swallowed around him, once, twice, and John moaned loudly.

“Come, coming, c– AAH!” John cried out and Sherlock felt the hot spurts of John’s release spill straight down his throat.

John groaned and trembled through his orgasm and Sherlock slowly pulled away, licking John clean as best as he could. He kept massaging John’s perineum till there was no more come leaking from his twitching cock and swirled his tongue around the glans one last time. John gave a weak moan when Sherlock withdrew his mouth completely and licked his swollen lips to wipe even the tiniest remnants of John’s powerful orgasm away.

John looked thoroughly debauched. A thin sheen of sweat covered most of his upper body and his stomach was quickly falling and heaving with laboured, panting breaths. Sherlock lay down next to John and looked at him adoringly.

“God, sweetheart, you… that was…” John mumbled, still catching his breath.

“Breath-taking?” Sherlock suggested and John broke into a high-pitched giggling fit.

“Stop it, stop!” John said between giggles.

Sherlock leant closer and kissed John on the mouth to shut him up. “Never,” he grinned.

John took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eyes. “Still, it’s a pity you’re not allowed to come.”

“Rules are rules, Captain,” Sherlock rasped and 'accidentally' brushed his erection against John’s naked hips. He made a show out of getting up and stretching once he stood beside their bed, drawing all of John’s attention to his slim waist and the obscenely tented boxer briefs. Walking towards the bathroom he let his hips sway a bit more than usual, showing off his full, rounded arse. Sherlock slowly turned around and brushed some stray curls out of his face. “Care to join me in the shower, John?” he asked and John almost jumped to his feet. Sherlock smirked. He held out his right hand and John let himself be dragged into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry for being away for so long! Real life kept getting in the way of writing, but somehow this still turned into a 9k words chapter.  
> Thank you so much for the 100+ kudos <3  
> I’ve got to admit that I mostly write for myself, but it makes me happy and motivates me that other people like my stories, too.


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